


Children of the Lamp: The Red Sun of Madrid

by Lucinda_MH_Cheshir



Series: Holly and Cas's Vaguely Titled Djinn Adventures [1]
Category: Children of the Lamp - P. B. Kerr
Genre: Demons, Gen, Original Character-centric, djinn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4858334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucinda_MH_Cheshir/pseuds/Lucinda_MH_Cheshir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holly Coomes and Cas Malone have been best friends ever since they met each other at the beginning of their freshman year of high school. Summer is almost here, and the two can’t wait to hang out with their other two friends, John and Philippa Gaunt, who happen to be twins. However, an evil djinn (or genie,) named Azazel has again been unleashed upon the world, and Holly and Cas have to discover their true identities as djinn themselves, in order to stop the powerful Red Sun of Madrid from incinerating an entire continent at Azazel’s command.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally on fanfiction.net under the same title.

**Prologue: Release**

_Madrid, Spain_

Professor Alphonso de la Rez ran down the old cobblestone road eagerly. The man he had been in close contact with had finally discovered what Alphonso had been searching for for over ten years. Alphonso bounded into Diego Ramirez’s antique glassware shop.

“Is it true, Diego? Have you found it?” Alphonso shouted at his associate as Diego was just polishing a glass brandy decanter.

“Sí, mi amigo, I have! I have hidden it in the back, wait here a moment.” Diego hurried to the back room of his tiny shop and came back, moments later with an elegant, opaque blue-green glass perfume bottle. Alphonso took it gingerly and gazed at it appraisingly.

“Renaissance, sí? Not that it matters much. What matters is what is inside the bottle.”

“It hasn’t yet spoken to me, but perhaps you are special enough.” Diego replied, just as excited as the Professor. Alphonso carefully drew the perfume bottle towards his face and whispered into it.

“Djinn of the lamp, do you hear me?” Alphonso murmured to the bottle. An irritated snort came, quite distinctly, from within the bottle.

“At last, someone who isn’t deaf as a post!” said the voice, which had a distinctly English accent, even though speaking Spanish quite fluently. “I’ve been waiting for this for years. Let me out already!”

“How do I know if you are not a bad djinn?” Alphonso asked the voice.

“You don’t. My answer is no. But if I was a bad djinn, I could be lying, and if I was a good djinn, I would be telling the truth. You have no way of knowing for certain, besides letting me out.” The snide voice pointed out.

“This is an excellent point, mi amigo. I don’t know for certain.” Alphonso mused.

“Open the bottle.” The voice commanded testily.

“Give me my three wishes afterwards, and I shall.” Alphonso said.

“OPEN THE BOTTLE!” The voice repeated, thundering furiously, though sounding a little desperate. “I’ll give you your three wishes-- any three things you want, but open the bottle!”

“Do you swear it upon your honor as a djinn?” Alphonso asked cautiously.

The occupant of the bottle sighed, as though gathering every molecule of his patience. “Yes. I swear it. Now take the stopper out already!”

“Very well,” Alphonso said, satisfied with the assurance and already thinking of what three wishes he would make, and slid the elaborately carved stopper out of the neck of the blue-green perfume bottle. Immediately, smoke poured out and materialized in the form of a teenage boy with straw-coloured hair and steely green eyes.

“Your wishes?” The boy said sulkily.

“Ah, yes. First, I wish that my friend Diego, here was no longer deaf.” Alphonso wished.

“MUMPSIMUS. Your wish has been granted.” The boy said, looking bored. Behind the counter, Diego jumped at the sudden shock of having his hearing restored to him so suddenly, and nearly dropped the brandy decanter he had picked up again.

“Second, I wish to have one million euros in cash.” Alphonso continued, and Diego nodded, convinced that this was a good wish.

“MUMPSIMUS.” The boy said again, his expression souring further. “Your money is waiting for you in the National bank of Spain. Third wish?”

“Third, I wish for my wife and child, who are ailing, to be well again.”

“MUMPSIMUS. Your wish has been granted. Now that that’s out of the way, time for a little fun!” The boy smiled at Alphonso evilly. “You shouldn’t have let me out, Alphonso. Not unless you wanted to unleash a horror on the world. Oh well.” He feigned an exaggerated sigh. “But whatever you wanted, Alphonso, I think that your child would like a doll to play with, don’t you? Oh, and what’s this? Diego over there seems to be mute all of a sudden! Dear me, what a terrible turn of events this is! But your child should enjoy playing with their new toy, won’t they?” 


	2. Tenth Floor, No Turning Back

**Chapter 1: Tenth Floor, No Turning Back**

Holly Coomes, while tapping her mechanical pencil idly against the side of her spiral bound notebook, looked across the biology classroom at her best friend, Castiel Malone. At that particular moment, Cas (as Holly and practically everyone else called him) was diligently jotting down some last minute notes, as though he was actually going to need them for the next day’s final exam. Cas was, Holly reflected, one of those people who made and maintained a perfect GPA without even trying. A lot of people hated him for that, and even more seemed to worship him, but only three people in the entire school seemed immune to whatever charm he was working on people. The first and foremost of these three was Holly. Holly had met Cas the first day of school, in this very biology classroom, and the two had quickly become best friends, learning that they shared opinions on so many different matters that Holly and Cas seemed to be almost one and the same, but just different enough that things were kept interesting. They even looked somewhat similar, both having dark hair, dusky skin, and were slightly taller than their peers, though that was the extent of their physical similarities. Cas was over six feet tall, with glossy brown hair that was always carefully combed so that his bangs fell untidily into his very tan face. His eyes, a cool green that distracted many of the other girls in his and Holly’s classes, always seemed as though they were about to fall closed, and Cas would begin to sleep. Holly, by contrast, had pixie-cut coarse black hair, profuse and extremely noticeable freckles, and warm brown eyes that always seemed to hold a spark of fire in them, especially when something attracted her interest. Holly’s grades were another thing she held in difference to Cas. While Cas had a perfect GPA, Holly was barely managing to receive passing grades in all of her classes, no matter how hard she studied before a test. School was a daily struggle for her. She was dreading the final exams next week, because she knew that there was no way on earth that she’d manage to get above a D on any of them.

The other two people seemingly immune to Cas’s glamour, if that was what it could be called, were a pair of twins that had begun attending Holly’s school a few weeks after the Christmas holiday had ended. Their names were John and Philippa Gaunt, and they seemed to pop up  everywhere, which was an unnerving habit of theirs, one which caused Holly much distress. There was something else strange about the Gaunts that Holly wasn’t quite sure what it was. She simply sensed that there was, or had been something that had made John and Philippa extra-special, somehow. After she had gotten past her initial strange intuitions about the Gaunts, Holly became quite good friends with Philippa, and Cas had become close friends with John. However, neither of the Gaunts could ever change Holly’s and Cas’s mutual status as “best friends.” After all, John and Philippa still didn’t know about the strange happenings at Holly’s and Cas’s respective houses.

Cas looked up then, perhaps sensing Holly’s gaze upon him, and met her eyes, pausing in his note-taking.

“What’s up?” He mouthed across to her. Holly was about to answer him, when the bell rang, signalling the end of the hour. Holly meandered around the other students to wait for Cas in the hallway outside the biology room.

“Is it just me, or do you have absolutely no idea what’s going on around us, either?” Holly asked him when he caught up with her.

“Yesterday I found a new crack in my wall, right above my head.” Cas told her, not bothering to answer the question. “You?”

“The window in my room got shattered. They’re blaming the neighbor kid, but there’s no rock or anything to indicate someone threw something at it. Also, the glass broke outwards. And I certainly didn’t do anything to it.” Holly answered. Suddenly, John was trotting amiably beside Holly.

“Hi,” He said by way of greeting them, “How’re you guys today?”

“Uh...” Holly began, startled by his sudden appearance. “Fine. And you?”

“Great,” John replied affably. “Though it’s been rather cold outside for June, don’t you think? But that’s New York weather for you. Unpredictable sometimes.”

“Yes,” Cas said, rescuing Holly from having to answer this odd comment. “Yes it is.”

“Well, I’m off to art. See you guys at lunch!” John nodded at them and set off towards the art rooms, while Cas and Holly began fighting their way to their English class.

“Just a few more yards, and we ought to be past the galloping hordes.” Cas reassured his best friend, somewhat melodramatically. Holly smiled and nodded. Cas always knew how to make her laugh, even if he wasn’t trying.

“I’m getting my wisdom teeth out this afternoon,” Holly told him. “One less afternoon of boring Spanish and boring Math. You know, I do believe that when my wisdom teeth came in, that’s when my weird stuff began to happen.”

Cas seemed taken aback by this bit of information. “You never told me that! That’s when my weird stuff started happening, too! When my wisdom teeth came in, I mean.”

“Really? How very interesting.” Holly mused. “Have you got yours out yet?”

“No. I’m getting them out this evening, after school is out.”

“Hmm. Well, if I can talk when I come to, I’ll call you. If I can’t, I guess I’ll just text you.”

“Fab,” Cas grinned. “Man, we’re gonna be all hopped up on vicodin... This’ll be awesome!”

“For you, maybe.” Holly smiled.

* * *

 

Later that day, Holly’s older brother Mark (older by about 8 years, Mark being 22 and Holly being barely 15) came to the school and picked Holly up to take her to the hospital, where the operation was to take place. Mark was the one who had to take his little sister to her operation because both Holly’s dad and stepmother were working a double shift at their respective workplaces.

“Quit worrying,” Mark told her as they were driving downtown to the hospital. Holly ignored him and continued to chew her fingernails, something she did only when she was very nervous. Mark sighed and pushed Holly’s hands away from her mouth. “No eating includes no chewing fingernails, kiddo.” He scolded. Holly still remained silent and began to chew her lip instead. Mark sighed in defeat. Soon enough, Mark had battled his way through the New York traffic and pulled into the hospital parking lot. “Here we are, Holly. Now, dame la cell phone if you know what’s good for you.” Holly pouted and handed over her smartPhone, which Mark pocketed.

“I need to call Cas when I’m done.” Holly told her brother quietly as they walked into the ground floor of the hospital. Holly looked apprehensively at the elevator. She didn’t like elevators, because Holly was claustrophobic. Elevators were small enough spaces for her to be quite scared of, and that was coupled with her somewhat less intense acrophobia. “Take the stairs?” She said hopefully to Mark, who gave a long-suffering sigh.

“You know it’s really sad that you can’t even go into an elevator because of your claustrophobia.” Mark complained as he and Holly began to climb the very extensive stairs. “You can’t save us some time, instead you insist on climbing the stairs to the tenth floor!”

“Be glad it isn’t the 100th, Mark.” Holly shot back wryly.

“Yeah, sure. Anyway, take it from me: you won’t be able to talk for awhile after you get your teeth pulled. Your mouth gets all numb from the anesthetic.”

“Then I’ll just text Cas.” Holly mumbled, concentrating on the hand railing.

At last they reached the tenth floor, Mark panting, Holly feeling somewhat better. Climbing a lot of stairs always made Holly feel less nervous about whatever she was about to face, even if it was something as horrible as having her teeth yanked out of her mouth. Other than having her wisdom teeth come in somewhat early, Holly had rather good teeth, nice and naturally even. Perhaps the reason she felt so nervous about the teeth being extracted was because she had a clean dental record until then. No cavities, no fillings, no missing teeth, until now. Her stomach was doing backflips out of sheer nervousness.

Holly waited nervously in the tenth floor waiting room, Mark attempting to make small talk, until Holly’s dentist, a rather wizened old Indian man called Dr. Calcifate appeared and called them over. Holly sprang up, dizzy with a mixture of relief that the thing was about to be done with, and trepidation at what was going to happen.

“Hello, Holly, hello, Mark. How are we doing today?” Dr. Calcifate asked them. Mark said something along the lines of:

“Fine, Dr. Calcifate,” before Dr. Calcifate led Holly and Mark to a sterile operating room. Minutes later, Holly was drifting off under the influence of the anesthetic.

No going back now.

 

 


	3. Dream Dice

**Chapter 2: Dream Dice**

Holly had expected to feel nothing when she was asleep. She had expected that she’d have simply a black void and wake up, seemingly seconds later (to her) after her wisdom teeth had been extracted successfully. However, the next thing Holly knew after the cold sensation spreading up her arm was being in a curiously beautiful garden. In truth, it was so beautiful, that Holly nearly forgot to breathe for a moment or two. Her feeling of awe was cut short, however, by the arrival of another personage, a middle-aged, nice looking man wearing a strawberry red suit. The man waved at her from across the garden, and Holly, thinking to herself that it was, after all, only a dream, waved back.

“Hi there!” She called to him as he approached.

“Why, hello yourself!” the man said in a deep, sonorous English accent. “Do you happen to know where we are?” He asked.

“Um, not really.” Holly replied honestly.

“Well, it is your head. You must have some idea. I certainly didn’t come up with this.” The stranger said kindly.

“Now that I think about it, this garden kind of reminds me of a description of a magic garden I read about in a book, once. Charmed Life, I think it was called. But if you’ll excuse me, sir, I have no idea who you are.” Holly said shyly.

“Light my lamp, young lady, pardon me! I say, pardon me! Forgive my rudeness, but I am Nimrod Plantagenet Godwin, John and Philippa’s uncle! I must say, it is nice to finally meet you. You must be Miss Holly Coomes, are you not?” Nimrod introduced himself, not without some pomp. He took her hand and shook it enthusiastically, looking around the strange garden with admiration. “And I must say, even if you didn’t come up with this lovely garden all on your own, your imagination must be wonderful! The detail is magnificent!”

Holly looked at Nimrod carefully. He did look an awful lot like John, being tall and dark of hair. Holly decided that, for the purposes of her dream, that she supposed her mind could have done a lot worse envisioning an uncle for John and Philippa.

“Er... thank you. But call me Holly, please. I can’t stand having anyone calling me ‘Miss Coomes.’ The Imam at Mosque calls me that, and it’s really irritating. And as for this place... well, I guess I just read a lot of chapter books.” There was something else about Nimrod, someone else that he reminded her of that she couldn’t quite place. This bothered her, that she couldn’t remember, but Holly reminded herself that it was only a dream.

“Very well then, Holly. May I invite you to play some tesserae?” Nimrod asked her as they came to a low, rectangular stone by an apple tree, with strange poufs with floral patterns set on either side of it.

“What?” Holly asked, confused. She had no idea what tesserae was.

“Dice, Holly, dice. The only rule is to be lucky. Which we are soon to find out if you are or not.” Nimrod sat down on one of the poufs and produced five six-sided dice and a small cup with which to roll them with from one of his pockets. He rolled the dice, and Holly noticed that he got three sixes before Nimrod scooped them back into the cup and handed it over to Holly, who, by now had seated herself on the other pouf.

“So I just toss them?” She asked, and Nimrod nodded. “Like this?” Holly shook the cup for a few seconds and allowed the dice to fall onto the stone block, to reveal five sixes. Holly stared for a moment, taken aback by her own luck. “Wow,” she said, her eyes nearly bugging out, “I know this is my dream and all, but wow. I’ve never thrown five sixes before in a game of Yahtzee. This is really amazing!”

“Indeed,” Nimrod agreed thoughtfully. “Awe-inspiring, one might say. The odds of having such a throw, well, they’re astronomical. I won’t bore you by going into the mathematics of it all, but you are certainly one lucky kid, Holly.”

“Really? ‘Cause I haven’t noticed it before.” Holly said, rather curious now. Lucky people didn’t have to clean up the broken glass on the lawn from their window being shattered.

“Oh, you will.” Nimrod chuckled. “You will.”

It was then that Holly felt a sudden and intense pain coming from her jaw. She jumped up and held her jawbone at the shock of it.

“Ow!” she yelled, loud enough to make a few birds take flight from the nearby trees. “Ow! Ow! OW!”

“Oh, dear. It seems that your wisdom teeth are deep in there, Holly. It happens sometimes. If I remember correctly-- and I always do-- my own wisdom teeth had roots so deep that my dentist at the time had to employ the help of a circus strongman who just so happened to be in the waiting room. Needless to say, I loathe all my dentist appointments with true chagrin. They’re probably giving you more anesthetic as we speak, so the pain ought to go away in a moment. There.”

Holly stood up, still rubbing her sore jaw, and finding that the pain was subsiding, at least for now. “So you hate the dentist, too?” she asked, by way of making conversation.

“Bottle me, yes. Not that I hate the person themselves, --indeed, I’ve known many dentists who are wonderful people-- it’s that my visits to the dentist are always pervaded by my own trepidation at what they’ll find wrong with my teeth.”

“Do they find things often, then?” Holly asked.

“Never, besides my wisdom teeth. But that was bad enough. You’ve got the anesthetic, at least, and I didn’t.”

“Ooh. Must have been really painful.”

“Oh, believe me, it was. But we’re getting off of the subject here, Holly. I’ve come to visit you-- you’ll excuse the subterfuge, I hope-- to introduce myself so that when Philippa-- or John, really it could be either of them-- asks you and your friend Castiel Malone to come with them on holiday to London, you’ll have an idea of what to expect.” Nimrod explained.

“London?” Holly asked, quizzically. “My Uncle Bob lives in London. I remember he came to visit us once, back when I was just a kid. I haven’t seen him since then, though.”

“Really? How very coincidental. And we all know that coincidence is just a scientist’s term for luck. Oh, dear me, it appears that you’re waking up now, Holly. Dream-time is so inconvenient to operate by. You never know how much time you’ll actually have. Be sure to keep your wisdom teeth, and make sure to ask John and Philippa about me! Goodbye, I’ll see you in London!”

Holly wanted to ask Nimrod more, ask him why on earth he thought she would ask her friends about their uncle that she had only dreamed up, and why, of all things, he had told her to hang onto her wisdom teeth, but all too soon she was awake. The first thing Holly became aware of was the excruciating yet dull, throbbing pain from her mouth. She rubbed her jaw and winced. As she became more aware of herself, Holly found that her jaw didn’t exactly hurt as much as she couldn’t feel it at all. Which felt weird, and so her mind seemed to translate the sensation into that of pain.

“Ow,” she muttered. Dr. Calcifate, rather annoyingly, smiled broadly in a way that only dentists can.

“I don’t envy you the pain, Holly. Those teeth of yours were deep in there. It took me the better part of five hours to get all four out! Here, have a look at them.” He shoved a strange-looking kidney shaped dish towards Holly. She looked at the four bloody bits of bone with faint revulsion, but, heeding Nimrod’s advice, Holly knew that she ought to keep them.

“May I keep them?” She asked Dr. Calcifate. She had to really work her jaws in order to speak at all, and her tongue and teeth did not seem to want to cooperate. However, Dr. Calcifate seemed to know what she meant, and he nodded, delighted for some reason, while Mark snorted derisively. Holly ignored her brother, for that is one of the things that younger sisters can do best when their older brothers are acting ridiculously.

“Sure, Holly! Here, I’ll put ‘em in a little box for you!” Dr. Calcifate turned around to wrap up the disgusting teeth in something, and Holly turned to speak to Mark.

“Cell phone?” she queried, using as few words as possible.

“I still got it, don’t worry.” He replied.

Holly held out her hand expectantly, and made little grabby motions with her fingers, hoping that Mark would get the message. Everything seemed to swim before her eyes, and Holly felt dizzy, but grateful that she was lying down.

“Cas can wait. We’re leaving in just a minute.”

Holly sulked.

“Here you are, your teeth.” Dr. Calcifate said, oblivious to the siblings’ disagreement, and handed Holly a tiny cardboard box, full of cotton cushioning the wisdom teeth. “Now, Holly, I gave your brother your pain medication and explained what it all does-- he’ll tell you later, when you’re not so dizzy, as I’m sure you are now. Here’s a load of gauze to put in your mouth until the bleeding stops, and no solid food for a few days. Okay? Good. Have a good evening, you two. And give your parents my regards!” Mark nodded at him.

“We will. Come on, kiddo. You can have your cell back when we get outside.”

Mark led Holly back down the ten flights of stairs and back out into the parking lot. It being 5:00 p.m., Holly felt quite hungry, especially since she hadn’t eaten lunch. Holly decided, after reclaiming her smartPhone, that she would have to talk to the Gaunts in person about her strange dream-- or was it a hallucination brought on by the anesthetic? Whatever it was, Holly had promised to text Cas when she was done. Cas being at the top of her recently messaged list, Holly selected him and followed Mark to his red pickup truck. When she sat in the passenger seat, still feeling dizzy, she pulled up the touchscreen keyboard and typed carefully.

 **Holly:** Yo

 **Cas:** Hey

Holly smiled tiredly. Or, at the very least, thought a tired smile. Her face still wasn’t quite behaving itself.

 **Holly:** So guess what. My wisdoms are finally out. It took the dentist like five hours to work them free.

 **Cas:** Five hours! What the heck!

 **Holly:** Yeah, but that’s not what’s got me vaguely worried. When I was hit with the knock-out stuff, I had this really weird dream...

 **Cas:** Really? Do tell.

Holly related the events of her dream/hallucination to Cas, who waited an unusually long time before replying.

 **Cas:** So...

He replied, finally, long after Holly had finished typing out the long story.

 **Cas:** what you’re saying is that this Nimrod-- someone you dreamed up-- wants you to tell J &P about having this dream with him in it? Is that about right?

 **Holly:** Yeah, pretty much.

Holly blushed at the sheer absurdity of her story. Mark shot her a weird look from the corner of his eye.

 **Cas:** Well, let’s try them! It can’t hurt, can it? I mean, we already talk about a ton of weird stuff at the lunch table, anyway. What can a simple weird dream do? I mean besides destroy your credibility and possibly make them think you’re clinically insane.

 **Holly:** You’re right, as usual Cas. But I don’t think I’ll be coming to school tomorrow. I can’t even talk. MY FACE IS NUMB. It’s awful.

 **Cas:** Hey, me too! The whole numb face thing, I mean. I flatter myself to think that I’m not awful unless I intend to be. Tho my wisdoms didn’t take five hours. Punk nerd.

 **Holly:** Weirdo.

 **Cas:** Crazy girl.

 **Holly:** Loony boy.

 **Cas:** Hahaha... you’ve got my number!

 **Holly:** Well yeah, how else would I be texting you?

 **Cas:** Ooh, she’s clever too... speaking of which, have you studied for the bio final next week?

 **Holly:** Ack! No... I guess that’s what I’ll be up to while I’m stuck at home. If I don’t take copious amounts of naps, that is.

 **Cas:** lol. well, good luck with that. I could use a nap myself. Have fun with your last minute cramming, Hol.

“You’re not supposed to stay up past midnight, you know.” Mark remarked, glancing sidelong at Holly’s most recent string of messages. Holly scowled at him.

“And who’s going to turn me in?” she asked him.

“No one I know. But be careful. They might be home.” Mark pulled his pickup truck into their driveway. “Just do well on your finals, okay kiddo?”

“I can only try.” Holly said dryly. She was finding that with time and little jaw exercises, she was beginning to be able to form more coherent words again.

“You know,” Mark said as he got out of the truck and slammed the door behind him, “sometimes I really wish that you were just naturally smart and didn’t need to study so hard. Then I wouldn’t get in so much hot water all the time for letting you stay up.” Holly, who had by now also exited the truck, was about to retort hotly when the strangest feeling overtook her. Holly felt really sorry for her hard working brother. Their father and stepmother were hardly ever home, and Mark was really her only caretaker. He didn’t deserve so much punishment on Holly’s behalf. At the same time as Holly was thinking all of this, she felt something... leave her. As if she had just screamed herself hoarse. Holly stumbled a little, and Mark raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll try not to stay up too late,” she told him.

“How hungry are you?” He asked, then shook his head. “I’ll make you some pasta with that sauce you like. What is it? Paul Newman’s tomato and basil? Wait a sec, you can’t have that. Too solid. How about some tomato soup instead? I think we have a can of Campbell’s somewhere in the cupboard.”

Holly nodded. She enjoyed soup well enough, though tomato soup she liked better accompanying a grilled cheese sandwich. However, Mark always added just enough extra spices to whatever he was cooking to make it taste completely different, though usually in a good way. Soup was no exception.

Dinner was quiet at the Coomes household that night. Holly didn’t feel much like talking, her mouth still being sore from getting her teeth removed, hurting no matter how carefully she sipped her soup, and Mark was pensive, a mood which rarely overtook him. After dinner, Holly grabbed her backpack with all of her studying materials in it, and mounted the stairs to her bedroom.

Upon reviewing the contents of her biology textbook, Holly found that, mysteriously, she actually knew everything on the study guide. Even beyond that, Holly seemed to know the entire book by heart. And yet, she couldn’t remember even opening the book before then. By some blessed miracle, Mark’s wish that Holly would be naturally smart had been granted. Shaking her head in disbelief, Holly reviewed all of her other subjects, and found that she knew each class without even faltering in her thoughts. Holly looked over to the light brown plywood that had taken the place of the now broken window. Was her sudden brilliance yet another inexplicable event in the series of strange phenomena that seemed to follow Holly around like a faithful dog? Perhaps. Holly decided to wait until morning and see if she was still just as smart then.

She and Cas had a lot to discuss when they got back to school.

 


	4. Invitations

**Chapter 3: Invitations**

The next week, when she finally felt well enough to go back to school, Holly was the last in line to receive the biology exam, but she was the first to complete it.

Cas, who was accustomed to finishing anything long before Holly had, was astounded when Holly stood up right as Cas was turning to the last page of the test booklet. All he could do for a full five minutes was stare at his best friend. His immediate thought was that she had simply plowed through the test, heedlessly filling in half-baked answers for each question and not even trying in the slightest. Cas struggled to get his mind back on biology and finish his own exam. Then he did a double-take. Holly seemed to have lost all of her freckles overnight!

Holly noticed Cas staring at her strangely, but more importantly, John and Philippa were also gaping, but in quite a different way. They seemed to know something... more about what was going on. Holly turned slightly pink and went back to her seat to bury her nose in a chapter book.

“You said you weren’t ready for that final, Hol,” Cas said accusingly after they were released from the biology room.

“I wasn’t,” Holly replied honestly. She really had no idea what was going on. Cas squinted at her suspiciously.

“Did you blow off the exam?” He asked dubiously.

“No!” Holly said loudly. Then, more quietly, she continued. “If I was going to blow it off, then I would have just skipped class. I do have a legit excuse, after all.” She tapped her front teeth with her fingernail, or what remained of it: in the stress caused by her sudden and mysterious knowledge, the upcoming exams, and anxiety over what she still believed to be nothing more than an extremely audacious hallucination, Holly’s habit of biting her fingernails had increased tenfold.

“Mm hm.” Cas replied doubtfully. “Hey, look. There’s John and Philippa. You can ask them about your dream.”

“You’re right! Come on!” Holly grabbed Cas’s hand and dragged him down the hallway towards the Gaunts.

“Hey, John!” Cas called to his other friend. “Wait up!” John and Philippa turned and stopped to wait for Holly and Cas.

“Hi,” Holly panted when she came within talking distance. “Random question: Do you happen to have an English uncle named Nimrod?” John and Philippa exchanged a knowing glance before Philippa answered.

“Yes, we do.”

Holly was dumbstruck momentarily. Then she shouted “No way! That’s crazy-- I’ve got this insane story to tell you at lunch, then. You’ll never believe it!”

Several members of the stream of passing students looked askance at Holly, and hurried down the hall slightly faster.

John and Philippa exchanged another knowing glance, accompanied by a pair of small, slightly smug smiles.

“Oh! That reminds me, John, didn’t Uncle Nimrod tell us we could each bring a friend with us to London this year?” Philippa turned back to her twin brother.

“Yeah? So?” He replied, nonplussed. Philippa elbowed him in the ribs.

“So, we’ve only made one really good friend each this year.” Philippa nodded pointedly at Holly and Cas, and John seemed to catch on.

“Oh, yeah!” he said. Philippa sighed.

“Holly, Cas, do you two want to come to London with us this summer?”

“England? Well, uh... I’m not quite sure if my parents will allow me to...” Holly began, but Cas interrupted her.

“We’re so there!” He said, grinning at the twins, who smiled back.

“Cas!” Holly protested, “There’s no way that my father and stepmom will let me go to London without them along!” Cas rolled his eyes.

“Can her brother come?” He asked the Gaunts impatiently.

“Mark?! Really? I’m not sure if that’s a wise idea--”

“I don’t see why not. Uncle Nimrod will be delighted to meet him, I’m sure.” Philippa smiled. 

“Is he good at keeping a secret?” John asked.

“What kind of question is that?!” Holly retorted indignantly. “Of course he can!” Cas laughed at his friend’s frustration.

“Okay, ask your parents, both of you. We’d love to have you along.” Philippa said, still smiling with suppressed mirth. 

“Will do,” Cas said cheerfully, and steered himself and Holly down the crowded hallway in the direction of their English class.

“Bye Cas! Bye Holly! See you in class!” Philippa called after them, lagging behind to speak privately with her brother. 

Holly finished her English exam a good few minutes before Cas or Philippa had as well. After she had completed the test and handed it in, Holly surreptitiously took her smartPhone out to text Mark, who had his lunch hour at about this same time of day.

 

**Holly:** m. You wanna go to London this summer?

**Mark:** U serious?

**Holly:** dead.

**Mark:** OF COURSE! wait... ur playing me ain’t you?

**Holly:** nope. we just have to convince los padres

**Mark:** y?

**Holly:** my friends john  & philippa want to take me & cas

**Mark:** what about uncle bob?

**Holly:** what about him?

**Mark:** mayb we can visit

**Holly:** mayhap

**Mark:** ;) consider the convincing done how’d you do on ur finals?

**Holly:** really well, sofar i think i aced em

**Mark:** thts great news, kiddo!

**Holly:** you’re a great big bro, m.

**Mark:** u know it!

 

Holly smiled and slipped her phone back into her pocket and continued to read her chapter book. Half an hour later, the bell rang for lunch, and Holly, Cas, and Philippa met each other outside the door.

“Mark wants to come.” Holly announced to her friends.

“You were texting?!” Cas asked in mock alarm. Holly laughed uproariously at his tone.

“It’s a secret to everyone, though!” She replied, eyes still twinkling. Cas snorted. Then Philippa dropped the (figurative) bomb.

“Holly, have you noticed that your freckles are gone?” she asked. Holly immediately stopped laughing and felt her face. Holly had loathed having freckles, ever since she was a child. She thought they made her look really ugly, especially being as abundant as they had been before.

“No-- really? D’you have a mirror I can borrow?” Philippa produced a small compact mirror and handed it to her friend. Holly looked at her reflection in disbelief. Every single one of the freckles that had plagued her was now gone. “Oh my gosh. The little diablos are gone! I don't believe it!”

“I think you both have gotten taller, too.” Philippa continued. 

“Really? What makes you say that?” Cas asked her.

“Because,” Philippa explained patiently, “yesterday, Holly and I were exactly the same height. Today, she’s at least two inches taller!” Holly looked down at Philippa and saw that it was true. And Holly was wearing ballet flats that day.

Cas opened his mouth, about to say something, when he noticed a group of girls waiting several yards in front of them. “Uh-oh,” he said, frowning, “here come Terri and her posse of zombie clones.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” Holly sighed, and linked her arm through Cas’s. Terri Alumina was one of those really irritating girls that no school seems to be without. Her ‘posse,’ as Cas so eloquently put it, was a group of about 4 other girls, all of whom had dyed their hair a brummagem buttery blonde to match Terri’s. It didn’t help Holly’s, Cas’s, and Philippa’s already low opinion of them that all five of them were absolutely obsessed with Cas. Which was why, whenever they caught sight of Terri and her posse, Cas and Holly pretended to be dating each other. It deterred many of their comments, either flirty ones with Cas, or incredibly rude ones to Holly. Either way, it was a means to get rid of them. 

Holly, Cas, and Philippa walked bravely towards Terri’s crowd, not being the least surprised when Terri greeted them with a too-nice, forced smile.

“Hi, Cas,” she said, batting her mascara-heavy eyelashes. Cas frowned more intensely.

“It’s Castiel.” He told her flatly.

“Oh, right,” she giggled, evidently oblivious to Cas’s stormy attitude towards her. “So, Castiel,” she continued, still batting her eyelashes furiously, as though she was under the impression that looking like she had something stuck in her eye seemed charming, “what are you doing this summer?” Cas spared her one, irritated glare before sweeping off, tightening his grip on Holly’s arm and pointedly not answering Terri’s question.

“She makes me so mad!” Holly hissed at her best friend and Philippa when, at last, they were out of Terri’s earshot. Cas and Philippa both nodded sagely. 

“I know. She reminds me of Lilith de Ghulle, this one girl I met at a book launch. Ugh, she was awful. And she was only there because her mom made her go, too!” Philippa agreed sympathetically, but Holly wasn’t done ranting.

“You know, I really do wish that those loathsome brats would leave us well enough alone in the future! Life is difficult enough as it is!”

Philippa frowned. “Careful what you wish for, Holly--” Philippa was interrupted by Cas suddenly falling to his knees on the hard linoleum floor.

“Cas!” Holly said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Cas grunted, taking Holly’s hand and picking himself up off of the floor. “Just peachy. Only, I felt kind of weird just now. Like something... left me. Or I just ran a marathon. I’m fine now, though.”

“It’s beginning.” Philippa muttered to herself. Holly turned to face her.

“What’d you say, Phil?” Holly asked her friend curiously.

“Hm? Oh, never mind for now. You’d think I was loony.” Philippa replied, quashing any more questions, but not Holly’s and Cas’s curiosity.

“Probably,” Cas joked, still subtly trying to get Philippa to divulge something. Then, less subtly, added “But you should tell us anyway.”

Holly, realizing that this was a useless endeavor, changed the subject. “So, anyway, Philippa, when are we leaving?” 

“Any time you like. But I was thinking, oh, two weeks from today. How’s that sound? You probably have to update your passports, but we’ll pay for that, don’t worry.”

“Say what?” Cas asked her incredulously.

“We’re paying for most everything else, too. Tomorrow we’re booking five seats in Club Class on British Airways. I mean, you are our guests, after all.” Philippa smiled.

Holly looked at Cas in stunned amazement. “Hey, Cas?” she said, a slow grin spreading across her face. “I think we ought to make friends with rich kids more often!”

Cas laughed.


	5. Out of Afghanistan

**Chapter 4: Out of Afghanistan**

The rest of that day and the next passed in a similar fashion. Holly completed all of her finals just minutes before Cas or the twins did, to the astonishment of all. Mark, being a brother as good as his word, for he, too, dearly wanted to go to London for the summer holidays, spent every second of his spare time with his father and stepmother, trying to manipulate them into allowing him and his little sister to go to London. Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Coomes gave into their son’s persistent badgering and hint-dropping, and reached an agreement.

“They say we can go to London with Cas and the Gaunts if: A) you actually did ace your exams, which the scores ought to come tomorrow, B) if you have aced your exams, we have to promise to go to Mosque every Friday, C) we have to send an e-mail once every week, as well as when we arrive, and D), I have to keep a close eye on you, kiddo.” Mark told Holly a week after school had finished. Holly grinned at her brother.

“You sure do have a talent for striking a bargain, bro!” she told him happily. “Don’t worry, I really do have a good feeling about those exams. It’s really weird, but it seems to me like your wish that I’d be smarter was granted!”

“Careful now,” Mark dropped his voice to a whisper. “If dad hears you talking about wishes, he’ll begin ranting about Afghanistan again.”

Holly and Mark’s father had been a citizen of Afghanistan until 1997, the year that Holly had been born. 

“I would never have gotten out of the reach of the Taliban if not for you, Holly.” he was fond of saying, whenever the subject of wishes came up. “You see, my child, I was visited by a djinn in 1997. A very beautiful Englishwoman, who wanted a good caretaker for you. She told me that she had found you in an abandoned house just outside of Kabul, and that such a young and innocent child should not be left to die. When I asked this djinn why she did not take you in herself, she replied that a human child could not possibly be taken care of by a djinn of her high standing. She offered me three wishes in exchange for your safekeeping. I accepted this offer of hers, and made my first wish, a wish to live in New York as an American citizen. Then I wished to have a different name. I never did like my old surname. My third wish was for the ability to be fluent in English. She granted this, and I have never seen her since.” Holly liked the story, but Mark, it seemed, had heard it a few too many times. Holly especially liked, with a sort of morbid curiosity, the story of how horrid the Taliban were to the poor Afghans who crossed them. She thought that her family had received a very lucky escape indeed. 

“Anyway,” Mark continued, butting into Holly’s thoughts, “this all hinges on your scores, so you better have done as well as you think.”

“Don’t worry. I did, promise. I think I’ll text Cas and see how he’s doing with his parents.” Holly rolled her eyes at her brother and took her cell phone out. Before she could text her friend, however, Holly suddenly shivered. “Is it just me, or is it really cold in here?” she asked Mark. Mark paused for a moment, then shook his head.

“It’s just you. But if you’re so cold, go outside. It’s plenty hot enough out there.” Holly nodded and went out through the back door into the humid New York summer.

* * *

As it turned out, Cas only had to explain to his parents that the Gaunts were being kind enough to provide for all expenses, and Dr. and Mrs. Malone agreed immediately. They weren’t greedy people, the Malones, but Cas being their only son, and a straight-A student at that, they would give him almost anything that was within their power (and budget) that he asked for. This is not to say that Cas was spoiled, in truth, he rarely exploited his parents’ weakness for him, preferring to do things “on his own.” But when Cas put his mind to it, there was almost nothing he couldn’t extract from his parents, including permission to go to England with his friends.

“Holly!” Holly’s father called from the back doorstep, waving a very white piece of paper in the air above his head. “Come here, young lady, I’d like to talk to you inside!” Holly groaned, but made her way back inside. Had she failed one of her exams? That seemed the likeliest scenario.

Holly’s father sat down at the dining room table, and gestured for Holly to sit also. Her growing feeling of trepidation was almost too much to bear. Surely now she and Mark wouldn’t be allowed to go to London!

“Holly, as you may have guessed, these are your final exam grades. I’d like you to look at them.” Mr. Coomes pushed the piece of paper across the table for Holly’s perusal. Bracing herself for the worst, Holly looked down and nearly fell off her chair in surprise. 

“100% in ALL of my classes?!” she almost yelled. Holly’s dad nodded. 

“Last semester you got all D grades, my child. How can you explain this sudden change of fortune? Have you met a djinn?”

Holly shook her head. Although Mr. Coomes’ talk of the djinn was fascinating, Holly didn’t actually believe in their existence. Besides, she thought that if she had met a djinn, she would have known. “No, I haven’t met a djinn, dad. I studied really really hard, all last quarter for these exams. Can’t you just believe that I earned those grades honestly?” She told him, trying to sound hurt. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t been studying for weeks. There was something odd about her sudden brilliance. However, she didn’t want her dad to have second thoughts of sending her and Mark to London. 

“Well, I suppose, in light of these wonderful grades, I can give you and Mark my permission to go to London with your friends. But be sure to go to the Mosque every Friday. And we’ll have to get some of your medication from Dr. Murphy.” Mr. Coomes said kindly, nodding his head. Holly’s whole face lit up. She jumped up and hugged her father around the neck in gratitude.

“Thanks, dad!” she said, and ran upstairs to pack.

* * *

 

Across town, Layla Gaunt was on the telephone with her younger brother Nimrod.

“You say that Alexandra called you yesterday?” She frowned. “And what did she tell you?” John, being rather bored from playing video games and watching the television all day, happened to walk past the room where his mother was talking on the phone. On hearing his Aunt’s first name, John paused in order to eavesdrop. “Nimrod, calm down.” Mrs. Gaunt said, and listened some more. “Oh, dear. This is an interesting development. What else, now? No-- I thought that brat had been done away with long ago!” Layla was shaking her head, looking worried. “Nimrod, is that all you can think of? Why she didn’t tell you before? Well, I have a shrewd idea. If you can’t figure it out, I’m not going to tell you. In any case, have John and Philippa told you that they found two more young djinn? Yes, but I happened to meet their parents. All four are purely human, Nimrod. Yes, I agree it is a mystery. Well, goodbye, Nimrod.” Layla hung up the telephone and turned to see her son, waiting for some explanation. 

“Was that Uncle Nimrod?” John asked his mother.

“Yes, John, it was,” Mrs. Gaunt replied.

“What did he say? You sounded worried,” John said.

“That’s because I am worried,” Mrs. Gaunt sighed. “Where is your sister? She ought to hear this, too.”

Half an hour later, Layla Gaunt had explained all of the information from Nimrod’s urgent phone call to her children.

“So, let me see if I understand what you’re saying,” Philippa said, squinting her eyes thoughtfully. “Yesterday, Uncle Nimrod received a phone call from Aunt Alexandra, who lives in Afghanistan, and she told him about a very dangerous Ifrit’s recent escape from a bottle. What was this person’s name again?”

“Azazel, wasn’t it?” John asked his mother.

“Shh, John. His name is not one to be spoken aloud lightly.” Layla scolded him.

“Yes, him, well, according to you and Uncle Nimrod, he’s even worse than Iblis was! Iblis, who Nimrod told us was the most evil djinn of the lot!” Philippa’s eyes were wide with fear. John scuffed the floor with the toe of his shoe.

“I wish there was something we could do,” He moaned. Philippa frowned at him.

“You know as well as I do that we don’t have any djinn power anymore, not since Italy.” John shot an irritated look at his sister.

“You said that Holly and Cas are djinn, didn’t you? Perhaps they can help. We have no idea what tribe they’re from, of course, but I’m fairly certain that the Baghdad Rules don’t say anything about djinn from an unknown tribe.” Mrs. Gaunt mused.

“So how about we adopt them into the Marid?” Philippa asked her mother. “After all, you are the official leader of our tribe.”

“I still need to get Nimrod to deal with the paperwork about that. But yes, I think that might do. They’re both good kids, aren’t they? I’ll call Nimrod back tonight. When are you going, again?” Layla nodded.

“Next week,” John answered. 

“Well, you had better begin your packing. And have you found out if either of them can’t come?”

“Holly texted me this afternoon, and Cas called John yesterday. They can both come. They’re really excited.” Philippa said.

“Oh, did you ask Uncle Nimrod if it was okay for Holly’s older brother to come?” John asked his mother.

“Yes, I did. And Nimrod said he’d be delighted, even if Mark isn’t a djinn.” Mrs. Gaunt said. “But be careful, children. Nimrod isn’t quite what he used to be, but I daresay he’ll find new strength in training your young djinn friends. But this could still hold quite an element of real danger.”

Both John and Philippa nodded.

“We’ll be careful, mother.” Philippa promised.

“Good. I couldn’t bear it if something horrid happened to you two or Nimrod.” Layla smiled. The twins smiled back at her, but only half-heartedly. They were both thinking very hard about the other part of what their mother had told them about Nimrod. The fact that John and Philippa seemed to have a previously unknown cousin.


	6. A Dark and Stormy Night

**Chapter 5: A Dark and Stormy Night**

“Thanks dad, bye!” Cas dragged his suitcase up the steps of Number 7, East 77th street, the household of the Gaunts, and rang the doorbell. Not two seconds later, John answered the door, grinning.

“Hi, Cas!” he said. The Gaunts’ cat, Monty, came to the door, meowing his hello at the newcomer. John shoved Monty roughly back inside with his foot, in order to prevent escape. “Come in, Holly’s upstairs with Phil.” Cas dragged his suitcase into the enormous front hall, containing Mr. Gaunt’s impressive collection of artwork. Cas noticed Holly’s brand-new cherry red suitcases and matching messenger bag, and set his own, old, enormous brown suitcase beside them.

“Where’s Mark?” Cas asked, nodding to a large, black, and battered suitcase that rested behind Holly’s bag. John made a face.

“He’s talking to my dad.” he said, as though that explained everything. Cas’s eyebrows popped up in surprise.

“What about?” Cas queried curiously.

“Art. They’re talking about all the art we have here. And how great it is.” John made another face. “I can’t stand living in an art gallery. At least, that’s what it feels like sometimes. You know what I mean?” Cas just laughed. He had been to the Gaunt house before, to attend a dinner party that John and Philippa had invited him and Holly to. In point of fact, he rather liked the works of art that were scattered tastefully around the house. This was partially because he had won the game of ‘hidden objects’ Holly had challenged Cas and the twins to then. Cas looked at the nearest painting, a still life with a bowl of peaches, and remembered how he had noticed that the tablecloth underneath the silver bowl was maroon, and not simply purple or red. His musings were interrupted by the appearance of Holly and Philippa, seemingly racing each other down the stairs. Philippa reached the bottom first, jumping the last step and skidding to a stop a few feet away from where Cas and John were standing.

“I win!” she declared triumphantly. Then she noticed Cas, and Monty, who by now had come over to rub himself against Philippa, meowing in the hope that he might get some food. Philippa ignored the animal and politely said hello to Cas, still panting from her sprint down the stairs.

“So, I take it you won. Care to tell us what you won at?” John had raised his eyebrows at his twin sister. Philippa smiled sarcastically at him.

“We were racing to see who could run down three flights of stairs the fastest. And that just so happened to be me.”

“Only by a hair’s breadth,” teased Holly, who was a good sport about such things, and glad that Philippa had won the race, especially since Holly had won the game of chess they had played after only half an hour of playing.

Philippa laughed. “Well, now we’re all here, we should get going, shouldn’t we? John, what happened to Mark?” Before John could answer, Mark and Mr. Gaunt came into the room, both laughing. Holly rolled her eyes in exasperation. Sometimes it seemed as though once he got started, Mark wouldn’t shut up until the cows came home. Not that these cows ever did.

“Mark! Hurry up!” Holly scolded her brother. Mark shot her a look and said goodbye to Mr. Gaunt.

“Thanks again for paying for this trip of ours. You really do have no idea how much it means to Holly and me.” Mark was saying.

Mr. Gaunt waved his hand dismissively, as if to say money meant nothing to him. “You kids go and have fun in London, and tell Nimrod that I said hello.”

Outside, two yellow cabs pulled up in front of Number 7. 

“The taxis are here, dad.” Philippa informed her father after she glanced out the front window. Mr. Gaunt checked his watch.

“They’re right on time. Come along then, everyone. Time to leave for the airport.”

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, the two taxi drivers had expertly navigated their cabs through the evening New York rush hour and stopped off at the airport, where John, Philippa, Holly, Cas, and Mark exited. John and Philippa led the group to board British Airways flight #2565, bound for London.

“Here, kiddo.” Mark took out a blue plastic pillbox with Holly’s claustrophobia medicine in it. He extracted one of the shiny silver pills and plunked it onto Holly’s outstretched palm. Without pausing to look at it, Holly swallowed the pill. Immediately, a warm feeling spread from her throat to the rest of her body, making her feel as though she could have been trapped inside a matchbox and she wouldn’t have minded. “Dr. Murphy gave us enough for the whole summer. You’re supposed to take one every four hours, so don’t forget to remind me.”

On the plane, Holly sat next to Cas, who was breathing very heavily, trying not to panic.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him, feeling perfectly calm

“It’s awfully small in here,” Cas said, eyes wide with panic. “And does that flight attendant have to close the door?” Holly looked at her friend, a sort of new understanding spreading across her face.

“Are you claustrophobic, too?” she asked Cas. Cas nodded, and then, seeming to remember something, he reached into his pocket, to pull out a blue plastic pillbox, identical to the one containing Holly’s medicine. He took out a silver pill and swallowed it, immediately becoming calmer.

“I almost forgot I had these,” he explained. “Dr. Murphy gave me a whole bunch. Silly me.” Cas shrugged, and Holly punched him gently on the shoulder, laughing.

For awhile, Holly and Cas watched a few westerns they had been meaning to watch (Cas was absolutely without mercy when it came to teasing Holly about her immense liking for Clint Eastwood) and after that, Holly convinced Cas that they ought to read for a bit. Holly was just reading Edgar Allan Poe’s poem Eldorado, which was in her collection of “Great American Poetry” for some reason, but it was Holly’s favorite poem, when she fell fast asleep, the words of Eldorado seemingly echoing in her head.

_ Gaily bedight,  _

_ A gallant knight _

_ In sunshine and in shadow, _

_ Had journeyed long,  _

_ Singing a song, _

_ In search of Eldorado. _

After dreaming the events of the poem, and a few commercials, Holly woke up suddenly to find that it was very dark indeed. Almost black. Holly felt very claustrophobic, so she felt her way across the aisle to wake her brother up.

“Mark? Mark! Wake up, I need my medicine.” Holly saw Mark stir and heard him grunt.

“Here, take it.” He muttered, and handed her the pillbox. Holly took it and fished out a pill, which she swallowed. A fork of lightning flashed across the sky, and something shook the plane so that Holly almost fell over. The flight attendant, a young woman from London who did not enjoy flying at all, but worked as a flight attendant because it paid her bills, helped Holly up.

“Are you all right?” the flight attendant asked Holly, a perceptible tremor in her voice. The storm was beginning to get rough, and that was never fun. “I hate flying, myself. But it’s this work that helps pay the bill, so I don’t mind terribly. But I do wish that this storm would end. It’s nerve-wracking enough to be flying miles above the ocean in a big metal canister without the added fear of being knocked out of the sky!” Part of the reason that the flight attendant was talking was because, somehow, the sound of her own voice made her feel better. Almost as if she were on terra firma, chatting with one of her friends at a cafe. Holly nodded politely at the woman, feeling rather sorry for her. It would be nice if the storm cleared up. Holly sat back down and tucked her medicine into her pocket, after which she fell asleep thinking how nice it was that even though this woman hated flying, she still did her job without wavering. A nice woman like that deserved something good to happen to her.

It seemed like only seconds later when Cas was shaking her awake. Holly yawned and rubbed her eyes.

“Wake up, Hol, we’re almost in London!” Cas prodded Holly again, and Holly waved his hand away blearily.

“What happened to the storm?” she murmured, yawning again.

“What storm?” Holly looked out of the window on the other side of Cas, and it was true. There was no storm, and the sun was already high up in the sky.

“How about that?” Holly said. “A little while ago, it was storming like the dickens, and now, it’s as clear as clear can be.”

“Whatevs, Hol. Oh, look, we’re landing!” They were indeed, landing, and the flashing sign that told everyone to fasten their seatbelts began to blink.

“Look out London, here we come!” Holly grinned at her best friend, and Cas grinned back.


	7. Apparently, Black Cars are Always Evil

**Chapter 6: Apparently, Black Cars Are Always Evil**

When finally the plane landed in London, John and Philippa led the way to find their luggage. Around them, everyone who had seen the news that morning were muttering to each other about the mysterious storm system that had suddenly vanished halfway across the Atlantic Ocean. The five ignored this talk, however, and Holly had just collected her red suitcase and messenger bag, feeling slightly perturbed, when someone shouted across the terminal at them.

“Light my lamp, I’d thought you’d never arrive!” Holly looked past the crowds of people, trying to see who had shouted. Then she saw him. Nimrod, the twins’ uncle, looking exactly as he had in Holly’s dream, even down to the huge cigar he was smoking and the strawberry-coloured tie he was wearing. Holly bristled. How was it possible, she asked herself, for her to dream up someone and then see them in real life? Holly blinked. Then she blinked again. Nimrod was still there, waving at them with great gusto. The twins smiled and waved back at him, then began to walk towards him. Holly had little choice but to follow them, along with Mark and Cas.

“Hello, Uncle Nimrod.” John said when at last they reached him. “These are our friends, Cas Malone, Holly Coomes and her brother Mark.”

“I must say that I am very pleased to meet you all. I’ve been waiting here for nearly an hour just to do so!” Nimrod smiled and shook Mark’s hand until Mark felt as though he was experiencing a miniature earthquake. Perhaps sensing this, Nimrod released Holly’s older brother, only to repeat the process with Cas. To Holly, however, Nimrod bowed deeply, a great show of manners. Holly was flattered, and felt a blush creeping up her face. “Is that all of your luggage?” Nimrod asked, straightening up and raising an eyebrow at Holly’s bright red suitcases. 

“Yes, sir!” Cas said cheerfully. He was quite unaware that Holly’s mind was working at about 88 miles per hour. Nimrod frowned vaguely.

“First thing’s first,” he said. “I absolutely refuse to have you call me ‘sir.’ I have a perfectly good name, and I invite you all to use it. Call me Nimrod, please.”

“Okay, Nimrod. You can call us three by our first names, too.” Mark said.

“That’s better. Now, if I may ask, young man, what is ‘Cas’ short for?” Nimrod asked Cas as he led them out of the airport terminal and to the street outside.

“Castiel.” Cas replied jovially. He already liked Nimrod well enough to admit that Castiel was his actual name.

“Indeed? Well, I recall that I once met the angel Castiel. A very agreeable fellow, I must say. Now, let’s find Groanin with the car.” Nimrod responded, but stopped abruptly to squint at either end of the street.

“Uncle Nimrod?” Philippa asked quietly, sensing that Nimrod was looking for something. Nimrod shook his head, ever so slightly. This gesture seemed to escape the notice of Cas, Mark, and John, but Holly, still on edge and vigilant, noticed something. Out of the corner of her eye, Holly saw a black Ferrari parked down the street. Holly didn’t quite know what it was about this car that perturbed her, but she was suddenly certain that Nimrod wanted to avoid it, though an exact reason for this eluded her.

“There’s Mr. Groanin!” John said, oblivious of the sinister-looking Ferrari, and pointed to a shiny, maroon-and-silver Rolls-Royce. Holly’s apprehension immediately became deluged in a feeling of excitement. She was going to get to ride through London in style! The only cars she had ever been in were Mark’s old Chevy pickup truck and her stepmother’s Station Wagon.

Nimrod shepherded them all across the street to the Rolls-Royce, whereupon a very corpulent bald Englishman with a temperament befitting a Lancashire undertaker got out of the driver’s seat.

“This is my butler, Mr. Groanin.” Nimrod announced. “There will be time later for further introductions, but we’re rather pressed for time right now. Pile in, good people. Groanin and I will deal with your luggage, won’t we, Groanin?”

“Yes sir.” Groanin mumbled irritably, but took the twins’ luggage from them with a faint, but warm, smile all the same.

“Thank you,” Holly said politely as she handed Nimrod her suitcases and followed John and Philippa into the back seat of the Rolls, with Cas on her heels. 

“It looks more like an office than a car,” Cas observed when they were all seated comfortably, Holly sandwiched between him and Philippa, Mark, John, and Nimrod seated across from them. John nodded in agreement.

A second later, Groanin started the car up. 

“This is a fantastic car you’ve got, Nimrod!” Holly said cheerfully.

Nimrod nodded amiably. “Yes, isn’t it? Red is such a versatile colour.”

Holly was about to reply when she noticed that the ominous-looking black Ferrari was directly behind them. They were being followed! But by whom?

Philippa noticed Holly staring and followed her gaze. Then Philippa looked back at her uncle meaningfully. Nimrod nodded, and muttered something.

“What was that you said, Nimrod?” Mark asked.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Tell me, Mark, have you ever traveled abroad before?”

“Nope, that’s part of the reason I’m here with Holly. It’s been on my bucket list for a long, long time.” Mark grinned and looked out the window as a red double-decker bus passed them by. Holly, who had turned at the sound of her name, looked back out of the back window at the black Ferrari, only to find that it was not there anymore. Holly frowned. She was absolutely sure that it had been there only a split-second before she had looked back. Nimrod continued to interview Mark and Cas about themselves, and attempted to do the same to Holly, only Holly was too caught up in trying to figure out where the black Ferrari had gone and how it had seemed to vanish so quickly and without a trace. 

Cas noticed how distracted and anxious his best friend seemed, but he also noticed that Nimrod seemed distracted and anxious in a similar way. Both Nimrod and Holly were biting their fingernails nervously, as though in sync with each other, but neither seemed to notice.

Groanin steered the Rolls-Royce expertly through the winding streets of London, past Kensington Gardens, and to Nimrod’s estate.

“Ah, here we are at last! My humble abode,” Nimrod swept his arm smoothly at the house, that hardly seemed humble. Holly thought it looked like a medieval palace from France. Cas thought it resembled (if vaguely) the Brighton Pavilion. Mark was reminded of those faraway places that he had only heard of in Grimm fairy tales. “John, Philippa, please show your guests the greatest courtesy possible, and all of you, please do not trespass upon my Xenia.”

“Your what?” John asked his uncle curiously as they began to exit the Rolls.

“Greek hospitality,” Holly, Cas, and Nimrod answered him as one.

“Well, I see that you two know what Xenia is. The ancient Greeks, also known as the Mycenaeans, were very particular in the way they received guests,”

“Yes,” Cas picked up where Nimrod left off, “In The Odyssey, which we read before Christmas break, Penelope’s suitors violate Xenia in almost every way possible!”

“Which is why,” Holly added, recounting the most memorable part of the story (at least in her opinion,) with a slightly bloodthirsty smile, “When Odysseus finally makes it home, he and his son Telemachus kill them all!”

Nimrod coughed awkwardly. “Yes, well. That was the way of ancient Greece. Nowadays, people tend to be more civilized in their viewpoints.” Mr. Groanin muttered something to himself as he unloaded the trunk of the car. Nimrod ignored him, and after a curious glance in Groanin’s direction, so did John and Philippa. “In any case,” Nimrod continued, as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “Castiel, Holly, Mark, I’d like to present you each with your own copy of the book Arabian Nights, as a gift from a host to his guests.”


	8. A Fantastical Tale

**Chapter 7: A Fantastical Tale**

After a huge English breakfast, Holly settled down in the room Nimrod had allowed her to use while they stayed in London, to read her new copy of Arabian Nights. As in every other room that Holly had seen, there was a cheerful fire burning in the grate. Holly thought this to be somewhat strange, it being quite warm outside because of the season. All the same, she found that she liked the fire’s presence in her room, and sat in a big, squashy red armchair right beside it and opened her new book. 

Holly found that whatever mysterious thing had enabled her to ace her exams had also dramatically improved her reading skills. Where before, Holly would have taken (probably) three weeks to read such a heavy book as the Arabian Nights, Holly managed to read it in less than four hours. 

Holly wasn’t quite sure what had caused her to become suspicious of the book. Perhaps it was the way that whenever she folded down a corner to keep her place, it had righted itself by the time she looked back, with no indication that it had ever been folded in the first place. Whatever the reason, Holly began to experiment. She tried to tear a page out, but the binding was like iron. She attempted to throw it in the fire, but it just sat among the flames, looking quite unharmed. Frowning, Holly left it there, and lay on her bed, feeling tired. 

She must have drifted off for a while, because the next thing she knew was hearing a knock at her door and Cas calling to her.

“Hol! Are you even awake?” He said. Holly groaned, and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“Yeah, come in!” She called back. Cas entered, carrying his own copy of Arabian Nights. 

“Hol, there’s something weird about--” he began, but then he saw Holly’s book still in the fire, looking quite unharmed. Holly checked her watch. It was now 5:30 in the afternoon. 

“It’s been in there for a few hours,” she commented. “You’d think it would have burned up by now.” Carefully, Cas put his own book down on the armchair, took the fire tongs from their hook by the grate, and dragged Holly’s book out of the flames, placing it, just as carefully, on the hearth before tentatively feeling the cover. 

“No way!” he said incredulously. “It’s completely cool! Here, feel it!” Holly got up and went over to feel the cover of her oddly undamaged book. 

“You’re right, Cas. And it’s not been turned to ashes at all! It’s exactly like it was when Nimrod pulled it off of the shelf, if a bit less dusty.” Holly told her friend.

At that moment, Mark poked his head around the door. “What are you two up to?” he asked them. Holly looked up.

“Have you... er... found anything weird about your copy of Arabian Nights?” she asked her brother. Mark looked around carefully before nodding.

“Now that you mention it, yeah, I have. Is it just me or could you not put it down either?”

“How do you mean?” Holly asked.

“I mean that at times, I felt like I was physically unable to stop reading. Doesn’t that sound weird to you?” Mark said.

“You’re right, Mark. I actually kind of felt like that sometimes, too. Holly? What about you?” Cas asked.

“I wasn’t reading it long enough to notice anything of the sort.” Holly replied shortly.

“How long did it take you to read it?” Mark asked incredulously.

“Less than four hours, not much more than three.” she said. “Why?”

Mark shook his head. “There is something seriously weird going on here, you know that? A couple weeks ago, there wasn’t anything on this earth that could make you read a book that size. And now, well, you read it in record time. That seems a bit fishy to me.”

“Fishy how? Can you explain what’s been going on?” Holly turned on him.

Mark shook his head again in defeat. “No, no I can’t.”

A soft knock came at Holly’s door, and they all turned to see Philippa standing in the doorway, waiting for them.

“Hi,” she said. “Are you coming down for dinner?”

“Yeah,” Cas answered, for all of them. “We’ve got some questions to ask your uncle.”

“Just wait a sec,” Holly stood up, stretching. “I need to brush my hair. I’ll just be a minute.”

“We’ll wait.” Philippa smiled, and waited with Cas and Mark while Holly found her hairbrush, made herself look somewhat presentable, and finally rejoined the others. Philippa then led the three downstairs to the dining room, where Nimrod and John were waiting, apparently having a very animated conversation, Nimrod already carving up what appeared to be a whole, roast goose. It took Holly a few seconds to drag her attention away from the lifeless stare of the goose and realize that both John and Nimrod were speaking in Arabic, apparently without any difficulty. Holly frowned. She only kind of knew how to speak Arabic, and even Mark, who had been learning for the whole of his 22 years, had issues from time to time. John and Nimrod, however, spoke the language perfectly.

“Hi,” Holly began tentatively, also in Arabic. “I didn’t know that you speak Arabic so well, John. You could have helped me with mine.”

“Uh, yeah.” John answered a bit guiltily, reverting back to English. “I learned it when I visited Iraq when I was twelve. I would have told you, but it feels too much like bragging.”

“Nonsense, John.” Nimrod said, also in English. “In any case, come, all of you, and join me at my table.” Holly, Cas, Mark, and Philippa sat in the four remaining seats. Holly eyed the spread with some excitement. She had never before seen such a fantastic array of delicious-looking foods. Along with the goose, there was mashed potatoes, green beans, a ham, rolls, seemingly made more out of air than actual bread, and what seemed to be lamb and roast venison. “Go on, tuck in.” Nimrod encouraged. “There will be plenty of time to talk after we are all well and truly stuffed. And we have such things to discuss! I can explain to you, or, rather, try to explain, what you, Holly and you, Castiel, are, and speak of a mystery that has been baffling me for quite awhile now.” The twins nodded, but Holly glanced at her brother and Cas. A mystery? What she and Cas were? That sounded intriguing.

After they had all (Nimrod included) finished off nearly all of the truly excellent food that had been provided for them to eat, Nimrod sat back into his seat, lit a cigar, and began smoking it with obvious relish. Mark made a face and waved the smoke out of his face, but Holly and Cas stared intently and almost hungrily at the glowing ember at the tip of the cigar, and the smoke it was generating.

“Well, now that we have all satisfied ourselves, I shall begin. Castiel, Holly, listen closely to what I am about to tell you. It is very important that you listen to me, because, I assure you both, I am in complete earnest. Now, are either of you followers of the Islamic religion?” Nimrod blew a smoke ring that was, impressively, shaped like the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem.

“Mark and I are Muslim, yes.” Holly told Nimrod, looking at the already fading smoke ring in admiration. Nimrod nodded approvingly. “Cas is Catholic, though.”

“Then you may have already heard some of the story I am about to tell you. Now, when the world was created, the higher power, (we needn’t go into who or what exactly this ‘higher power’ is just now,) made three sorts of beings with a higher intelligence than the rest of creation. These were the angels, made of light, the human beings, made of earth, and the djinn, made of fire. Yes, I did say fire. Now, for the purposes of this discussion, we are mainly concerned with the last group of beings, the djinn. You’ve all read the Arabian Nights I gave you, correct?”

Holly, Cas, and Mark all nodded. Nimrod blew a smoke ring that was shaped like an old oil lamp, like Aladdin’s magic lamp.

“So you doubtless remember the tale of Aladdin and the djinn in the lamp. Well, what I am about to tell you in relation to this will doubtless cause you some pause, but please, believe me. Djinn are quite real. I am a djinn, John and Philippa are djinn, and you, Castiel and Holly, are also djinn. There. The djinn is out of the bottle, so to speak.” Nimrod smiled again and waited for what he had said to sink in properly.

“What?!” Cas and Holly burst out in unison, both feeling quite similarly alarmed. But subconsciously, Holly was already accepting this as fact. She had heard her father’s stories of how he escaped from Afghanistan because of that English djinn. Her father even spoke English with a very English accent, not generally something that would have necessarily happened if he had learned the language in a more conventional way.

Mark was shaking his head. “That’s impossible,” he said, frowning. “Holly’s my sister-- if she were a djinn, as you say she is, then wouldn’t I be a djinn as well?”

Nimrod sighed. “It pains me to inform you of this, but I highly doubt that Holly is actually your sister by blood. Her true djinn parents probably hid her away in hopes of protecting her from... something. And the same goes for Castiel. When Fiona Murphy, the best djunior djinnfinder in New York told me that there were two teenaged djinn with mundane parents, of course I was quite intrigued.” he explained.

“You mean, Dr. Murphy is a-- a what? Is she a djinn, too? But she’s just the doctor I go to for my claustrophobia!” Cas protested.

Holly cradled her head in her hands as though she was in some pain. “This is too much; it’s making my head hurt. You’ve got to be joking!” She complained.

“No, Holly, I am not joking. And Fiona Murphy, a djinn? Certainly not. She is very human. Fiona is merely a mundane woman who knows of the djinn and how to find them before they get their wisdom teeth out and begin granting wishes unconsciously. And incidentally, intense claustrophobia is typical of djinn. It comes from so many of us being captured by wise men and stuck in bottles.”

Holly suddenly remembered something and looked up again, this time at her brother. “Mark! D’you remember, the day I got my wisdoms out, you told me that you wished I was naturally smart?”

“I did, didn’t I? And you sort of, well, you looked for a moment as though you had lost something. And then you went and aced all of your exams.” Mark recalled.

“And she did, as you put it, ‘lose something’. Whenever we djinn grant a wish, a bit of our power goes out to grant that wish.” Nimrod nodded.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you guys about the last day of school! I passed Terri and her cronies after my geometry exam, and they didn’t even say hi to me. Didn’t you wish that they’d leave us alone?” Cas said excitedly, and Holly nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes, this phenomena is what we djinn call ‘subliminal wish fulfillment.’ It’s when a djinn, usually a djunior djinn, hears a wish that they just would dearly like to come true, for the sake of the person making the wish.” Nimrod explained. Cas’s excited smile melted away.

“If you’re really a djinn,” he began suspiciously, ”can you grant wishes and stuff?”

“Yes indeed. And more. How would you have me prove myself to you? I believe my niece and nephew insisted that I make a rhinoceros appear in the room.”

“I remember that!” Smiled John. Philippa frowned.

“Yes. But I don’t think a rhino is in order here. I don’t much like rhinos.” she said. She turned to Holly. “They’re a lot bigger and more mean-looking than you might think.”

“I believe you.” Holly assured her friend.

“What would you suggest, Mark?” Nimrod appealed to him. Mark thought carefully, looking around the dining room.

“All right,” he said, once his careful examination of the room was completed. “How about a three-foot-tall olive tree, in a black and orange urn depicting Odysseus’ journey in the Underworld-- and if you could make it appear on the table in front of-- let’s see-- Holly, then I think that I’d be convinced.” For whatever reason, Nimrod’s earlier comment about Xenia was still on his mind, and by extension, the epic poem The Odyssey. It was making him have flashbacks to his own freshman year of high school, flashbacks that generally involved being reviled quite viciously as a nerd for actually enjoying the book.

Nimrod puffed again on his cigar, muttered something, and a second later a large Grecian urn, depicting Odysseus’ journey through the Underworld, complete with a wizened looking three-foot-tall olive tree appeared with a thump, right before Holly.

“Oh!” Holly jumped at the suddenness of the olive tree’s appearance.

“And I can make it vanish as well.” Nimrod said, blowing a smoke ring shaped like the urn. A moment later, both the tree and the urn were gone. “Are you quite convinced?” He asked them. Mark nodded, as did Holly and Cas.

“Yes, Nimrod.” Mark said, eyes wide with amazement. 

“Now for the mystery I mentioned. I must warn you, this may contain a strong element of danger. However, every good adventure should, isn’t that right, John?”

John nodded, grinning in anticipation.


	9. A Mystery

**Chapter 8: A Mystery**

“Danger?” Mark asked before Nimrod could continue. “What’s all this about danger?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll all come out of it quite intact, and perhaps even wiser for it. In any case, it is evident that the two of you, Castiel and Holly, are both djinn, but the clincher is that we don’t have any idea what tribe you’re from. You see, there are good djinn, and there are bad djinn. John, Philippa, and I belong to the Marid, the most powerful and the smallest tribe of good djinn. If you recall from your reading, the Ifrit are a tribe of very evil djinn. They are our mortal enemies, are the Ifrit. If I’m not very much mistaken, some tried to follow us from the airport this morning.” Nimrod began.

“Were they the people in the black Ferrari?” Holly asked. Nimrod nodded, his next smoke ring shaped like the sinister car.

“How do you do that trick with the smoke? It’s really cool!” Cas asked, before Nimrod could elaborate. Nimrod frowned.It’s merely a parlor trick, Castiel. And now that you know of your true identity as a djinn, a being made of fire, I simply must implore you not to refer to things you find admirable or interesting as ‘cool.’ It’s something I’ve told my nephew countless times, but he still chooses to ignore me, don’t you John?”

John grinned. “You need to stop doing such cool stuff with your smoke rings, Uncle Nimrod.” he said cheekily.

“Hm.” Nimrod hummed disapprovingly. “Anyway, what was I just saying? Ah, yes. Yes, Holly, they were, but I distracted them with a sort of, well, hologram. I had hoped to keep your existence a secret from them, but it seems that they have already discovered you. And if the Ifrit are interested enough to follow us, that can’t be good. We must leave for Cairo as soon as we possibly can. If everyone would be so kind as to gather up their things, we can leave in... oh, say, about an hour?”

Mark choked on the air and quickly went into a coughing fit, partially helped along by all the smoke in the air, which was making it quite hard for Mark to breathe.

Finally, he cleared his throat enough to rasp “An hour?! But don’t we need like, tickets and everything?” incredulously at the same moment that Cas spoke up

“Cairo? Why?” 

“Because, Castiel, we have to begin your training at once, and to do that, we must go to the desert. And yes, Mark, I did say an hour. Time is of the essence, as I’ll explain later.” Nimrod nodded sagely.

Already, John and Philippa were rising obediently to follow their uncle’s instructions. John paused to grin at Cas and Holly. “You guys are going to love Cairo!”

If Holly, Mark, and Cas had any remaining doubts about Nimrod’s identity as a djinn, they were all quashed once and for all when Nimrod made a carpet fly.

“I know, I know.” Nimrod said, somewhat melodramatically as he, Mr. Groanin, and the twins carried a large rolled up blue carpet out of the house and into the backyard. “It’s cliche. Overdone. An absolute affront to djinnkind and my djinneration. However, there’s nothing to be done about it. What with all the ecological problems circulating through the atmosphere these days, it’s unfortunately no longer safe to fly a whirlwind.”

Holly exchanged a glance with Cas, and then Mark. Whirlwinds? They wondered collectively. And just what was Nimrod doing with the huge carpet? Surely that belonged in his study, spread across the floor, not in the backyard.

“John, Phil, help me unroll this loathsome thing, will you? Ah, thank you both.”

Once the carpet was spread out on the grass of Nimrod’s backyard, Nimrod waved his arms, shepherding everyone towards the carpet, which glittered mysteriously in the dying summer sunlight.

“Everyone on, and do keep away from the edges, particularly you three.” He turned to address Holly, Cas and Mark specifically. “Since you’ve never flown like this before, it simply won’t do to have you novices falling off the edge accidentally. Incidentally, that’s another reason djinn prefer whirlwinds: they’re quite a lot safer.”

“Safer than what?” Holly finally asked, frustrated at how evasive Nimrod seemed when it came to admitting their mode of travel. “A magic carpet?”  
Nimrod flinched visibly. “Flying carpet, if you please, Holly. It’s bad enough without calling it magic. Magic is something reserved for children’s parties and stages in Las Vegas. It has nothing to do with us djinn. Light my lamp, no.”

Holly scowled. “Okay, okay, I get it. Flying carpet, fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Geez, anyone would think that I’d insulted your mother or something, the way you told me off.”

Nimrod cleared his throat awkwardly. “Perhaps I did overreact a bit, at that.” He allowed.

Mark, meanwhile, had crouched down at the edge of the carpet and was examining it with great interest.

“It doesn’t look particularly special. It is a nice carpet, though. I do like blue.” He shifted, preparing to stand up, but paused. abruptly. “Hang on, is that gold thread?”

“Ah, yes, you have keen eyes Mark. Yes, it is gold thread. Part of a single thread as long as eternity, which was used to weave the original flying carpet that belonged to King Solomon himself.”

“I hate traveling by blinkin’ flying carpet.” Groanin said to no one in particular, holding his suitcase in one hand and keeping his bowler hat securely on his bald head with the other. “And to think that I used to complain about whirlwinds.”

Philippa and John smiled at the butler’s complaining, ( a trait which Holly was beginning to suspect was something of a trademark of Mr. Groanin’s,) and Philippa turned to her uncle with a look of some concern, as though she had just remembered something troubling.

“But Uncle Nimrod, will you be all right? I mean...” she glanced over at Holly, Mark and Cas before whispering the next few words. Nimrod looked even more offended than when Holly had referred than when Holly had referred to the carpet as ‘magic.’

“Light my lamp, Philippa, I may not be as powerful as I once was, but I’ll be bottled if I can’t fly this carpet from here to Cairo. If you think about our jaunt across central Asia and then to Italy, a flight of this distance is like a walk in the park!”

“If you say so, uncle.” Philippa said indulgently, dragging her luggage onto the carpet, followed by John and Mr. Groanin.

After a moment’s hesitation, Holly, Cas, and Mark followed suit as well.

Nimrod smiled, strode onto the carpet himself, raised his arms, and muttered something. A second later, the carpet and everyone on it rose up into the air, hovering several feet above the grass, filling Holly, Mark, and Cas with a feeling of wonder.

“Wow,” Mark whistled in awe. Nimrod smirked with self-satisfaction.

“Yes, well, it’s nothing compared to a whirlwind. And I’d really rather conserve my power altogether and take a jet plane, but we’re in rather a hurry, so flying carpet shall have to do.”

“Still though, this is really just... astounding!” Cas told Nimrod enthusiastically.

Nimrod smiled. “Well I’m glad you think so, Castiel. Groanin certainly doesn’t.” Nimrod glanced back at his butler, who was scowling largely at the prospect of going to Cairo on a flying carpet.

“That’s the understatement of the century.” Groanin grumbled. “I say, that’s the understatement of the bloomin’ century!” Then, as an irritated afterthought, he added “Sir.”

“Well, never mind. It ought to take us to Cairo faster than an airplane, at least, and there’s less chance of the Ifrit interfering with the journey if we go this way.”

“Oh, I get it.” Holly nodded, although she still didn’t quite understand. She was a little too focused on trying to remain standing on the undulating carpet to really absorb any new information now.

Philippa laughed slightly, already sitting cross-legged on the blue carpet. “Sit down, you three,” she urged Holly, as well as Cas and Mark, who were similarly wobbling, “before you fall over!”

Holly and Cas sat down immediately, seeing the sense of Philippa’s advice, but Mark wobbled about a bit more before he, too, complied.

“Are we all settled?” Nimrod checked his passengers to see if everyone was ready, “Excellent. Here we go!” With another murmured word, the flying carpet rose into the dark English sky at such a rate that it soon made Holly dizzy to look down. Holly was not immediately comfortable with being so high up in the sky, with nothing but a thin blue carpet to support her. True, she didn’t feel claustrophobic at all, and it was liberating for her to bypass the usual fear of airplanes, but still, they were so very high up! Holly breathed in deeply and clung to her brother’s arm, willing the acrophobia to go away, but it stayed, the idea that she might fall from such a height continuing to prey on her mind. She pushed it away and ignored it, trying to give her undivided attention to Nimrod, who by now, was talking again.

Cas noticed that Holly was busily chewing her fingernails, a sure sign that she was very nervous. He patted her on the back, and smiled at her as Nimrod continued to speak.

“We’re above Spain right now. We’re heading South and then East. Look at Madrid! Now that’s a very old city. If I recall correctly, there’s a lovely old antique glassware shop that sells the most beautiful bottles. Perhaps we can visit after we’re done in Cairo.” 

“Uncle Nimrod, do you know which of the Ifrit was following us? Was it any of Iblis’ sons?” Philippa asked. Holly and Mark frowned in unison. Iblis was the name of the Devil in the Muslim faith, believed by many to be a djinn, just like Nimrod.

“No, I don’t believe so. Nor was it the new leader of the Ifrit, Jirjis Ibn Rajmus. It was Iblis’ sister and her son, Dimme and Azazel Teer.”

“Who is Iblis?” Cas asked.   
“He was the head of the Ifrit, like Uncle Nimrod is the head of our tribe, the Marid.” John explained. “Iblis got sealed in a jade coffin a year or two ago, thanks to Kublai Khan.”

“Wait, the Kublai Khan? As in the Kublai Khan that Marco Polo went and visited way back in the thirteenth century?” The mention of such an ancient monarch in such a modern setting was enough to make Holly momentarily forget that they were hundreds of miles above land.

“Yes,” Philippa said. “It seems weird, but I’ve noticed that a lot of times, history plays an important role in many of today’s mysteries.” Cas nodded. Between Nimrod mentioning meeting angels offhand, John talking about Kublai Khan, and the fact that Nimrod, John, and Philippa claimed that Holly and Cas were both djinn, nothing seemed quite so impossible anymore.

“That’s another reason we’re heading for Cairo,” Nimrod said. “You see, Azazel was, until very recently, trapped in a bottle. I believe that Jonathan Teer, Iblis’ son, tricked him into it and left him somewhere on one of the Balearic Islands, I think. Azazel was rather a nuisance to Iblis, and nearly had Iblis’ throat torn out before we got to him, and also killed more than a few innocent mundanes, not that that mattered much to Jonathan.”

“Mundanes?” Holly asked curiously, before Nimrod could continue.

“It’s what we djinn tend to use instead of the term ‘human beings.’ From the Latin mundus, meaning world. Er... no offense, Mark.” Nimrod obviously felt obliged to apologize, as though he had said something that might be considered rude or out of line by some.

“None taken.” Mark replied coolly, and Nimrod nodded politely.

“Thank you, Mark. In any case, it’s not so much the fact that Azazel escaped from his imprisonment as the fact that he hasn’t yet done anything. Normally when an Ifrit is freed from an extended period of incarceration, the first thing they do is cause mass hysteria. Azazel, however, hasn’t caused so much as a single parking ticket, as far as I am aware. This leads me to believe that he is up to something utterly horrible. The only reason I do know that he escaped, besides the somewhat unreliable testimony of my wife, Alexandra, was because of the sudden jolt in the homeostasis.”

“What homeostasis?” Cas asked

“The homeostasis is the delicate balance between good and bad luck in the world, measured by Berlin Meridian Luck, or BML. You’ll learn a great many more things when we arrive in Cairo. Not much longer now, I should think, at the rate we’re going. In any case, you ought to have a look at the tuchemeter yourselves.”

“And a tuchemeter is?” Mark asked.

“An instrument that measures all the luck in the world,” Philippa said, before Nimrod could answer.

“Well remembered, Philippa.” Nimrod commended his niece, and Philippa smiled.

“Where are we now, Uncle Nimrod?” John asked impatiently. Nimrod  frowned slightly, and squinted over the edge of the carpet, towards the lights below.

“I believe we’re just coming to Morocco now, John. Be patient. In any case, back to the matter at hand. Azazel Teer. The mystery I mentioned after dinner was not where he is now but what he is planning. I have no doubt that he is up to no good.”

As they rode the flying carpet across the Atlas Mountains and the Sahara desert, Nimrod continued to tell of some of the dreadful deeds that Azazel Teer had done in the past four years he had possessed his djinn power.

Cas listened intently to Nimrod’s recitation. It struck Cas that this Azazel person seemed to have absolutely no conscience whatsoever. But it also seemed to Cas that he had met someone before who sounded eerily like Azazel. Whoever it was, the vague memory sent a shiver up Cas’s spine.


	10. The Choice

**Chapter 9: The Choice**

“We’ve arrived. Excellent.” Nimrod announced as they touched down in the garden of his house in Cairo. “Tomorrow night, you two will perform the traditional fast in the desert.”

“A fast?” Holly asked curiously. “Why?”

“To explain that, I first have to tell you a story from djinn history, and I’d much rather talk about it inside, where I can be sure that no one will be eavesdropping.” Nimrod led them all into his house through a side door, and all of them except Mr. Groanin sat down at one end of a long, cherry wood table. As Groanin left through a door at the far end of the room, a tall, slightly intimidating Egyptian man wearing a red fez came in. He would have looked the most frightening man in the world (at least in Holly’s opinion) if not for the fact that he had an enormous grin illuminating his dark, suntanned features, his teeth as white as pearls.

“Ah, Creemy, there you are!” Nimrod said. “Holly, Castiel, Mark, this is Creemy, my manservant here in Cairo.”

“So what exactly is this story?” Cas asked Nimrod after they had all said their hellos to Creemy, and Creemy had sat down at the table next to John.

“The story? Ah, yes. It begins a few thousand years ago, with one of the Marid tribe’s ancestors, a king, named Nimrod, like myself, and he was most famous for building the Tower of Babel. I’m sure you’re quite familiar with that story, are you?” Nimrod began, puffing on his cigar, Cas nodded, though Holly and Mark shook their heads.

“Not really.” Mark admitted.

“That king had all the people in the world try and build a tower all the way up to heaven. God didn’t like that the people He had created were trying to become equal to Him, so God made it so that all the workers couldn’t understand each other, because they were speaking all different languages.” Cas explained.

“I’ve been to the tower of Babel. Believe me, suddenly speaking some strange language isn’t as fun as it sounds.” John nodded, leaning back in his seat. “And then there was that time in Peru when I suddenly started speaking Quechua. That was even weirder.”

“There will be time for stories of your adventures later, John.” Nimrod silenced his nephew and puffed on his cigar for a few seconds thoughtfully. “Now where was I? Ah, yes. This King Nimrod lived to a ripe old age and subsequently died, leaving his queen, Semiramis, to mourn. Before she had time to mourn him, though, she gave birth to a son whom she named Tammuz. After she recovered enough, Semiramis went out into the desert and fasted.”

“How long did she fast for?” The practically-minded Mark asked.

“Forty days and forty nights. No food, no water, out alone in the desert. It was there that Semiramis realized that her son, Tammuz, was actually Nimrod reborn.” Nimrod explained.

“So, what exactly does this story have to do with our being djinn?” Cas asked curiously. 

Nimrod smiled. “You, too, must go out into the desert and fast, Castiel. We call this the Rite of Tammuz, and no djinn can be a djinn without completing it. One night of fasting in the desert, in the company of a flame. Only then can you truly understand what it means to be made of fire, as djinn are.”

“When are we going to go out and fast?” Holly asked nervously. She didn’t much like the idea of herself and Cas alone, out in the desert, where there were scorpions and snakes all over.

“I’d like to have you both initiated as soon as possible, so I think that tomorrow night will be best. But until then, I think it’s best that we try to lie low. At least for tomorrow. Cairo is much more dangerous now that Azazel is on the loose again.” Nimrod cautioned, and then yawned loudly. “Oh, dear. I’m feeling rather tired after steering the carpet all the way down here from London. I’d better go to bed, and I suggest that you all do the same. Tomorrow we’ll see how well you play Astaragali, if we have nothing better to do. I don’t think I want to risk taking you both into the city before you’ve learned to defend yourselves a bit.” Nimrod yawned again and stood up to leave the room. “I beg your forgiveness at my rudeness, but John and Philippa can show you to your rooms today.” Nimrod left, followed by Creemy, who said that he had to go and watch the tuchemeter some more.

The next day, Nimrod showed Holly, Cas, and Mark his tuchemeter, which Nimrod claimed was an exact replica of a much larger one in Berlin. Its single hand pointed quite definitely to one of the three words engraved on the face: BAD. Feeling rather unsettled, they spent the rest of the day learning how to play Astaragali, which turned out to be a game that both Holly was good at, and that Mark and Mark excelled at, and they spent many hours playing it. Even John, who rather disliked playing Astaragali, conceded to play with Holly, Cas, Mark, Philippa, and Nimrod, if only to have something to do for the day. 

Evening came eventually, and, just before dinnertime, Nimrod called them all into the front hall. 

“Now, then. It’s time to set out for your Tammuz. Mark, I’m afraid you can’t join your sister this time, so don’t be tempted to stay with them. I’ve already put all of the equipment they’ll need in the Cadillac, and Creemy can drive you down to a nice, deserted bit of desert I know right near here. I’m afraid I won’t be joining you, but John and Philippa can escort you. Can’t you?” Nimrod looked at his niece and nephew meaningfully.

John and Philippa exchanged a glance and then nodded.

“Excellent. Oh, I nearly forgot. Philippa, I need you to help me look for that lamp, will you?”

“Yes, Uncle.” Philippa said, and she and Nimrod set off down the hallway, leaving John with Holly, Cas, and Mark.

“What do they need a lamp for?” Mark asked John. “Why not flashlights?”

“Well, the whole idea of the fast is to spend a night in the desert with a flame for company. You see, djinn are made of fire, and that’s what makes us able to work our will. It’s also how charcoal pills work-- they make us feel less claustrophobic because they warm us up. And flashlights don’t really warm anything up at all. It’s just some batteries and a light bulb stuck together with plastic.” John explained.

“Oh. Will Holly and Cas be safe out there, all alone?” Mark returned, tapping his foot and crossing and recrossing his arms nervously.

“Probably. And if not, Uncle Nimrod would know about it.”

“How?” Mark asked.

“You’ll see,” was all John would say before Philippa came back in, without Nimrod, and gave a very interesting-looking burnished brass lamp to Cas.

“Here you are. Uncle Nimrod says he’s sorry he can’t be here to see you off, but he’s dealing with a very important djinn matter. Shall we go?” Philippa was already halfway to the door when she finished speaking.

“Okay,” Cas said, nodding. “Let’s go.”

The stretch of desert which they arrived at a few minutes later was indeed quite near to the district of Cairo known as Garden City, where Nimrod’s house was. The sky was beginning to darken when John and Philippa helped unload the negligible equipment from the trunk of Nimrod’s fantastic white Cadillac Eldorado. Holly raised an eyebrow at it. There was a tarp to spread over the sand, and sleeping bags, which looked comfortable enough, but also, to Holly’s considerable surprise, there were two pads of paper and two pens, as well as an English dictionary. 

“What’s the dictionary for?” Holly asked, as John handed her a book of matches and the pens.

“You can play word games if you get bored. But when the sun goes down, you can see all sorts of stars and things up in the sky here that you can’t in New York. It’s amazing!” Philippa encouraged.

Holly could almost swear that she heard something that sounded very like a derisive snort come from within the lamp that was now clasped in Cas’ right hand.

“And if you get really bored, you could give that lamp a good polish. It looks as though it could use it.” John added.

The twins and Mark got back into the Cadillac and Creemy drove away, leaving Holly and Cas alone with the rapidly darkening desert. Or so it seemed. Holly and Cas looked at each other as the last rays of sunlight vanished, and night began.

“Never fails at the rub of the lamp,” Holly told her friend meaningfully, quoting one of Robin Williams’ lines from Walt Disney’s Aladdin, and they both sat down on the tarp.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Cas replied, grinning back at her, and rubbed his palm vigorously across one side of the brass lamp until it suddenly shot out of his hands. “Whoa!” he shouted, and fell back onto his elbows, which is normally quite a painful way to fall, but the sand beneath the tarp was quite soft.

“What happened?” Holly asked, panicked. She didn’t much like the dark, having grown up in New York with all of the light pollution, and it made her very nervous.

“I don’t know. The lamp just sort of... jumped out of my hands! I-- look at that!” In the dark, Cas pointed through the darkness to the lamp, illuminated by a soft white glow as white smoke billowed out of it endlessly, until the smoke manifested itself into a human figure that they recognized immediately. It was Nimrod, wearing his red suit, beaming at them, and holding another, lit oil lamp that illuminated the desert with a radius of a few yards.

“Oh, hi Nimrod.” Holly said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Nimrod checked his watch. “Really?” he said, “it only took you a few seconds to figure that one out? I must say that you two have exquisite observational skills. It took John and Philippa much longer to figure it out, but to you I say bravo for remembering your Arabian Nights with only John’s vague hint. Bravo, indeed.”

“It wasn’t all that vague, to be honest. It was actually pretty obvious, if you think about it for a second.” Holly admitted.

“Now, why exactly do we really have this dictionary?” Cas asked, observing his friend go slightly pink from Nimrod’s praise.

“I’ll get to that in a minute, Castiel. First, though, I must tell you another story of the djinn, and it is especially important in your case to listen carefully.”

“Why?” Holly asked before Nimrod could begin. He sighed and sat down, cross-legged on the tarp opposite them.

“It is important for you to listen to this story, Holly, because we don’t know what tribe you both are from. Now, I think it’s best that you just listen until I’ve finished, all right?” Nimrod asked them.

Holly and Cas nodded, and Nimrod began.  
“When the world was first made, there were only two powers present in it, and only three types of beings that could tell the difference between them. The powers were Good and Evil, and only angels, djinn, and mundanes knew them apart from each other. Now, as the world grew older, a Great Choice was forced upon angels, djinn, and mundanes: and this was to choose between Good and Evil. As you may have gathered, we call this the Great Choice. Most of the angels chose Good, and many of the mundanes living then chose Evil, causing a bit of a dilemma for us djinn. Three of the six tribes of djinn chose Good, and these are the Marid, the Jinn, and the Jann. The other three tribes-- the Ifrit, the Shaitan, and the Ghul-- favored Evil.”

Nimrod let his tale sink in for a moment before adding: “Since it is fairly unlikely that we will ever find out for sure what tribe either of you is from, it is your turn to make the Great Choice. Choose between Good and Evil; and choose wisely. Should you choose Evil, I won’t try to prevent it. Choose what you believe is best for you.” Holly studied Nimrod’s grim countenance, trying to figure out if he was in earnest about forcing this choice on them. How could he expect them to choose between Good and Evil, just like that?

“Well, I’ve decided.” Cas announced immediately. “I’m on the side of Good, through thick and thin. I couldn’t ever inflict harm on others, even if they really deserved it.”

“Then I welcome you as an honorary member of the Marid tribe, Castiel Malone. Holly? What about you?” Nimrod smiled at Cas and then turned to Holly with an expression of polite curiosity. Holly began to chew her fingernails in indecision, but stopped very quickly.

“Cas is right. I’d rather stick with the good side of things than be responsible for doing evil. But what if it turns out that we’re actually from a bad tribe of djinn? Won’t that mean that we have to choose Evil?” Holly asked, worried.

Nimrod shook his head. “Of course not, Holly. In point of fact, all djinn start out essentially the same, just like mundanes do. It’s really what you do and what company you keep that shape you to be good or evil. But in any case, I welcome you as an honorary member of the Marid tribe, Holly Coomes. Now, I’ve some things to give to you.”


	11. Initiation and Conflagration

**Chapter 10: Initiation and Conflagration**

“What about the dictionary?” Cas asked impatiently as Nimrod delved into his coat pockets. Nimrod gave Cas a reproachful look and drew out what appeared (to Cas) to be packs of Yu-Gi-Oh! trading cards, which Nimrod gave to each of them. (Cas had once gone through a phase, long before he had met Holly, where he and his friends at the time were absolutely obsessed with the Yu-Gi-Oh! game.)

Upon closer inspection, however, the cards were not for any game at all, but each bore the name of a djinn, its tribe, its preferred animal shape, and its various strengths and weaknesses.

“Neat,” said Holly, examining the top card on her deck, a card for an Ifrit named Palis the Footlicker.

“You might find a use for these, but I certainly haven’t. They are quite interesting to look at, though, if not cut out for practical use. If I recall correctly, John and Philippa never used their decks. But that’s not the end of what I have for you two. I’m also going to give you a copy of my departed friend’s-- a djinn by the name of Mr. Rakshasas-- book, Rakshasas’ Shorter Baghdad Rules. Here.” And so saying, Nimrod muttered something and two large, white books with a strange-looking gemstone on the cover appeared on the tarp in front of Holly and Cas. “It was his life’s work, poor Rakshasas. But I daresay that he’d appreciate educating the minds of two more young djinn that have chosen Good. In any case, should you have questions, you merely need to ask that stone on the cover and a hologram of Mr. Rakshasas will appear to answer you. It’s a terribly useful book, is the SBR.”

“I’ve noticed something, Nimrod.” Holly said.

“Oh, have you indeed? What have you noticed?” Nimrod returned.

“Every time you’re about to use your... er... what would you call it-- powers?”

“Djinn power is quite an adequate term.”

“Yeah, that. Every time you’re about to use your djinn power, you mutter something under your breath. What is it?”

“Good job, Holly. I wondered if you had noticed. The word you heard me say every time I focused my djinn power is what is called my focus word. It is QWERTYUIOP, a word that is quite impossible to work into normal conversation, being the top ten letters on a typewriter or computer keyboard. This focus word of mine helps me to focus my power, rather like a magnifying glass focuses a ray of sunlight until it is a sharp point of burning light.”

“Sort of like ABRACADABRA?” Cas asked.

“Exactly so. In fact, the way that ABRACADABRA got started was because some djinn somewhere thought it would make a good focus word.”

“So the dictionary is to help us find some good words, is it?” Holly said, and Nimrod nodded. Cas picked up the dictionary and opened it to a random page.

“How about CHIFFON?” he asked. “That’s a kind of nylon cloth. I don’t think that I’ll ever be interested in dressmaking or whatever.”

“I wouldn’t advise it. Too short. I’ve heard stories about djinn uttering their focus words in their sleep, with utterly disastrous results. No, you need something longer. But don’t worry, you have all night to come up with something.”

“Here, let me see the dictionary.” Holly commanded her friend, and she took it, flipping pages until she stopped. “MADECASSEE. I sort of like that.” Holly had never heard the word before, but when she said it aloud, she liked the feel of it in her mouth.

“Well, don’t rush. I’m going to go back in my lamp. If you want anything, I’ve left a box of supplies just down the road. It has another lamp on top of it, so if you want to find it, simply blow out the flame of this one.” Nimrod announced, and gave Cas the lit oil lamp. However, he paused before reentering his lamp, as though he had just remembered something. “Speaking of rushing into things, I must offer my sincerest apologies to you two. I know that this whole djinn thing can be hard to accept at first, and certainly John and Philippa had a bit more time to realize their powers and digest the information. They even were lucky enough to have the experience of being a camel before their Tammuz. But as for you two, Holly and Castiel, I’ve rather forced your hand like this, forcing the Great Choice upon you. And so I am quite sorry. But I must say that you both have handled this whole fiasco magnificently.” Nimrod bowed eloquently, to the both of them, and turned back into white smoke and entered his lamp, like a smoker inhaling quickly.

“I wonder if it gets cramped in there,” Holly mused. “Do you think you can use djinn power in a lamp?”

“Probably. Here, trade you.” Cas gave Holly the oil lamp in exchange for the dictionary, which he allowed to fall open in his lap. “How about CONVOLUTED?” Holly shrugged.

“You could write it down on the paper that the twins gave to us.” she suggested, and pushed one of the pads of paper and a pen over to Cas. Picking them up, Cas shivered and clambered into his sleeping bag.

“It gets pretty cold out here, doesn’t it?” He commented, just as Holly had decided to follow suit and climb into her own sleeping bag.

“Yup. But oh! Look up at that sky!” Holly was looking up to the starry Egyptian night sky in awe. Cas looked upwards, too, and his green eyes reflected the flickering stars. “It’s times like this that make me not miss New York at all. It’s amazing.”

Cas nodded, his gaze darting from star to star. “It is.” he said.

“Look, there’s Orion!” Holly pointed up at three bright stars in a row.

“And isn’t that Taurus?” Cas pointed to it.

“And Cassiopeia, too!” Holly traced the pattern.

Several hours passed in this way before Holly finally fell asleep, warm and comfortable inside her sleeping bag. Cas stayed awake for a few seconds longer, before he, too, gave in and his eyes shut.

“Cas, wake up!” Holly shook her best friend roughly. Cas groaned sleepily and sat up.

“Ah, you’ve woken him. Finally. Now I can begin your training. All right, have you decided on your focus words?” It was morning, probably just after dawn, and Cas felt exhausted. He rubbed his eyes as Holly answered Nimrod’s question.

“I’ve chosen MADECASSEE. It means ‘of or pertaining to Madagascar or its inhabitants.’ I don’t think that I’d ever use that word when I could just say ‘from Madagascar,’ not even if I visit Madagascar. And, well, it does sound kind of special. Kind of like it was meant to be a word that works wonders.” Holly explained. Nimrod nodded.

“You have no idea how many adults would prefer to use a long, obscure word when a short phrase will do just fine, but you’re right. It is a very good focus word, Holly. Castiel? What about you?” he said.

Cas stood up and stretched. “My word is APO--” here Cas interrupted himself with a huge yawn, and then continued. “APOGEOTROPICAL. It’s not actually a word, but it’s pretty close to APOGEOTROPISM, which means ‘growth or orientation away from the Earth.’ I figure, that if it’s not actually a word, then it’ll be pretty hard to say it accidentally, even if I do grow up to be one of those people who like long, obscure words.”

“I see your point, Castiel. If it’s not a real word, you can hardly use it by accident. I believe that Philippa made up her focus word... but it didn’t really sound like an actual word. You’ll have to ask her what it was-- for the life of me, I can never remember anything about it, other than it was about fourteen syllables long. In any case, try to create the impression that your chosen word must be used very sparingly, as though it were the red button that launches a deadly missile. Which, in a sense, it does.” 

“Okay, what next?” Cas asked, feeling more alert. He was ready to start using his power!

“Oh, right. Now that you’ve both come up with quite excellent focus words, you can begin your training. I think we ought to start with making something disappear. How about those rocks over there? Holly, you first. Choose a rock.”

Holly looked over at the cluster of largish rock formations and picked one that was about the same height as herself.

“Got it.” she said.

“Good. Now, try to imagine that particular rock not being there. Try to keep in mind that its absence had to have been a possibility that was in the rock from the very beginning. This is essential for a young djinn like yourself to keep in mind. When you feel that you’ve got a clear idea of nothing in your head, press the red button and say your focus word.”

Holly studied the rock. It was hard to imagine the landscape without it. Every time she got close, the rock itself got in the way. 

Eventually, though, Holly thought that she was ready, and said her focus word.

“MADECASSEE!” she said, and looked hopefully at the immense rock. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then the entire boulder shivered, as though it had suddenly caught a chill, and a piece the size of a chicken egg fell off. Holly clapped her hands and jumped up and down in excitement. “Did you see that, Cas? I made that whole piece fall off! I did that, me!”

“You certainly did something,” conceded Nimrod. “Castiel, why don’t you have a try?”

Cas’s first attempt at making a boulder vanish was quite similar to Holly’s: the rock vibrated for a second and then a fragment, slightly larger than Holly’s fragment, broke off and fell into the sand.

“What are we doing wrong, Nimrod?” Holly asked. 

“I think that you have to get a clearer idea of nothing in your heads. You’re both confusing the idea of alteration with disappearing. Try again, but this time bear in mind that whatever is permitted in logic is permitted in the real world. Your thoughts contain the possibility of the rock vanishing, therefore it is quite possible. So whatever is thinkable, is quite possible, too.”

“Makes sense,” Cas Nodded, while Holly just felt confused. Being naturally smart thanks to her own djinn power didn’t always help her comprehend everything that Nimrod said. He liked to speak in long and confusing sentences.

It was midmorning by the time both Cas and Holly managed to concentrate enough to make either of their rocks vanish. Holly and Cas were rather surprised by the amount of concentration that was necessary to make this happen, but both of them were quite willing students and kept on trying until they succeeded, becoming exhausted as they did so. Holly’s stomach rumbled, indicating that she had better eat breakfast soon, or else.

“Now that you’ve mastered that, I think that you ought to try and create something. No doubt you’re rather hungry. Try to make a picnic. Like this one, for example. QWERTYUIOP!” A picnic, complete with tartan picnic blanket, appeared spread out on the sand. “Now you try. Visualize the picnic, but very importantly, make sure you also visualize the taste of the food itself. Holly, ladies first.”

Nimrod’s djinn lessons progressed like this, until two more very delicious picnics were created and then consumed. This took awhile, but Holly and Cas were fast learners.

“Well, now that we have partaken of your two delicious picnics,” Nimrod said, eyeing one of the leftover paper-thin cucumber sandwiches from Holly’s picnic, as though contemplating eating yet another of its kind, “We ought to head back. I have no idea what’s been keeping John, Philippa, and Mark, so we ought to find out, shouldn’t we?” He stood up slowly. “Ah, here they are now! Just in the nick of time, too.” Nimrod’s white Cadillac Eldorado pulled up, and Mark jumped out of the front seat, looking agitated.

“Nimrod!” Mark shouted. “We have to go back to the States, now!”

“Whatever for?” Nimrod asked, very confused. Mark held up a sheet of paper that he had printed off of a computer, from the online New York Times. The headline, written in bold, black lettering, read: String of Arsons in New York: Five Found Dead, Police and Fire Department Baffled. Holly stood up, too and looked closely at the five photographs of the victims of the fire, and gasped when she recognized them.

“No!” she said, “those are dad and stepmom! And-- and Uncle Bob, surely?”

“And my parents, too.” Cas said quietly.

“Yep.” Mark continued grimly. “Last night, there were three enormous fires that burned very quickly, all at around the same time of night. Our house has been burned to the ground, same as Cas’s house. Burned to cinders.” Holly felt her eyes fill with tears. All of the satisfaction she had felt at creating a picnic out of nothing but air and her willpower was now gone. She ran over to her brother and flung her arms around his middle, burying her face in his shoulder to hide her tears. Mark hugged her back, but looked squarely at Nimrod. “My point is,” he said, “that we have to go back and talk to the police about this. They were our parents!”

“Mark, much as I’d like to oblige your request, I simply have to refuse.” Nimrod told him. Mark started to say something angrily, but Nimrod deflected this with the palm of one hand. “I have no doubt that there’s one of Azazel’s Ifrits in every American airport terminal, just waiting for you to come running home, for I am quite certain that this atrocity is their doing. Nasty pieces of work, they are. When I think about it, this was probably the doing of Dimme Teer herself. If I recall, she used to be quite adept at handling and controlling fire.”

“They obviously know that Holly and Cas are djinn,” put in Philippa, “So we’re not going to have the element of surprise. And John and I are quite useless, as you well know, Uncle.”

“Yes, I do know. But they’re probably underestimating the power of Holly and Castiel. However, I agree that we should find out more about what’s going on in New York, so why don’t we call Layla, or my friend Frank Vodyannoy, and have them investigate a little bit?”

As Nimrod spoke, Holly continued crying onto her brother’s shoulder. And why not? Holly loved her father and stepmother. And this was not to mention her stepmother’s brother, Uncle Bob, who had lived in London, just like Nimrod. It just wasn’t fair, how horrible and manipulative these Ifrit were. Holly wanted to give this Azazel jerk a piece of her mind.


	12. Old Enemies

**Chapter 11: Old Enemies**

Holly had no idea how long she stood there, crying into Mark’s shoulder, but finally, she managed to swallow her emotions and turned around, wiping the last of the tears away.

“Hol?” Cas asked, sounding concerned. “Are you okay?” Cas had been in tears as well, but he had been very quiet and without much fuss. It seemed that the shock of the news had yet to really sink in.

Holly nodded, her face set. “I’m fine,” she assured him, “it’s those Ifrit who won’t be okay when we finish with them!”

“Careful, Holly.” Nimrod cautioned, “Using djinn power in anger almost never helps the situation. Try to--”

“Blah, blah, blah. Do you ever shut up, Nimrod?” An irritated male voice with an arrogant British accent to it interrupted Nimrod. Everyone whipped around to face the owner of the voice. A dusky-skinned boy, only a couple of years older than Holly, Cas, and the twins, with straight, straw-coloured hair, a square jaw, and cruel green eyes, reclined lazily on top of one of the rock formations a few yards away.

“Azazel!” shouted Nimrod, looking quite angry. “Go away. These young djinn have chosen Good! You--”

“I think that you didn’t quite understand me before. Here, I’ll help you. MUMPSIMUS!” Azazel interrupted Nimrod again.

Nimrod was suddenly encased in a huge block of perfectly clear ice. His brown eyes darted wildly around, asking silently for help. Azazel snickered nastily and leapt down from his perch.

“Nimrod!” cried John and Philippa, and they immediately ran over to see if there was anything that they could do.

“That’s ice that will never melt, you washed-up hooligans. Unbreakable, too. The only way it’ll begin to melt is if I relinquish it-- voluntarily. I call it my Ice Age binding. My own idea. You’ve no hope for his survival unless you listen to me, very carefully.” Azazel wore a smug smirk that made Holly and Cas hate him all the more.

“Name your demands.” Holly said bravely. Azazel laughed again, this time even harder.

“Very well. I actually believe that I forgot how funny Americans are when they’re trying to sound courageous. My demands, Holly Imelda Coomes, is that you and your friend Castiel over there come with me, without any fuss. At all. I have no intention of killing you, but I do have every intention of allowing Nimrod to die if you two do not comply. Understood?”

“No!” Philippa yelled at the Ifrit. Holly held up her left hand, the way Nimrod did when he wanted to stop all protests.

“Phil, don’t worry about us, worry about your uncle. Cas?” Holly turned to her best friend, and Cas nodded, confirming to her that he was willing, if their actions would, indeed, save Nimrod’s life.

“Hold still, you two.” Azazel took out two separate silver hip flasks, identical to each other in every aspect but one: one of the hip flasks had a carved, jade cap. “MUMPSIMUS!” said the evil djinn, and smoke spiralled into the hip flasks; one with white smoke, the other with black. The two young djinn safely in the containers, Azazel screwed the caps on tightly and walked slowly over to where Nimrod stood, frozen. Azazel leaned forward and whispered something sardonically to Nimrod, and then, with one outstretched forefinger, Azazel touched the face of the gigantic ice cube, repeated his focus word, and the ice immediately began to melt in the hot desert sun.

The second he had done this, Azazel Teer laughed again at Nimrod, the powerless djinn twins, and the soppy-eyed mundanes that were with them. Soppy-eyed in Azazel’s opinion, at least. He had no tolerance for mundanes, especially those that served his enemies. After he had completed his victory over them, Azazel called his whirlwind to ride off to his hotel. Now that Iblis was gone, Azazel thought it was his right to be the tribal leader of the Ifrit-- but no. Simply because Iblis’ idiot son had trapped Azazel in a bottle, Azazel had been overlooked. Slighted out of his very reason for being. No, the stupid American Jirjis Ibn Rajmus had to get in the way, like the idiot always did. The only djinn Azazel could ever rely on was his mother, and that was partially because she was afraid of Azazel and his father.

Azazel had been competing with Iblis since Azazel had first mastered his djinn power. After all, what kind of imbecile allowed himself to be tricked into a bottle by a Marid? Let alone John and Philippa Gaunt, who had, at that time, been only twelve.

Now Azazel was seventeen, and quite determined to lead the Ifrit, whether they liked it or not. This he was going to accomplish by using the two young djinn that he had so cleverly bottled up. Even though it played perfectly into his plan, it bothered Azazel that the two unaware djinn hadn’t hated each other at first sight. It was a bit unnerving that the child of two very important Marids and Azazel’s own lost sibling could turn out to be best friends. Although, Azazel reflected, if he could twist Nimrod’s own child against him, no other Ifrit, not even Jirjis Ibn Rajmus, could refute Azazel’s wickedness. Yes, that sounded like a perfect plan! That is, if the other one didn’t take the bait. Azazel smiled grimly at his own cunning, which he had certainly not inherited from his mother’s side of the family. No, it was his father, the powerful demon Beelzebub, who Azazel took after mostly. Azazel only wondered if his lost sibling would be the same. Whatever the case, these two djinn would make Azazel powerful.

Inside her hip flask, Holly was feeling horribly cramped and claustrophobic. She didn’t have her special claustrophobia medicine with her, and after a little while, Holly began talking to herself in an effort to calm down.

“I don’t much like it in here. I really wish I had my medicine.” The word wish seemed to jog her memory.

“MADECASSEE,” she said, and a silvery charcoal pill appeared on her palm. She swallowed it. The effect was instantaneous, and left Holly feeling much calmer and have a much greater capacity to think carefully. She walked around the bottom edge of the flask. This took her several minutes, and she decided that the smooth, metallic walls were simply not going to do for an extended period of incarceration.

“Best jazz the place up a little, eh?” she muttered to herself, and with another few recitations of her focus word, and several failed attempts at creating furniture that looked more like modern art than anything else, Holly created what she believed to be the ideal living space. A very retro sort of design, with a well-equipped kitchen, lots of her favourite colour, which was red, and a radio that played only Egyptian music, which Holly understood only a small amount of the time, and didn’t really enjoy very much. She much preferred to listen to the music on her iPod instead.

Even though she was quite happy with the space around her, Holly was very, very lonely.

Cas, meanwhile, barely had time to get himself a charcoal pill out of his pocket when he heard the loud grinding sound that indicated that someone was opening his hip flask. Cas swirled (as smoke) out of the hip flask and out into a hotel room.

It appeared to be a very nice hotel room, with thick, Persian carpets on the floor, a widescreen TV, and an elegant chandelier hanging above. In a black leather chair, the young Ifrit who had kidnapped Cas and his best friend was reclining lazily, with an expression of utter amusement on his face. Amusement at Cas’s expense. Cas felt his face flush red with anger, and he began to say his focus word, but found that he couldn’t remember how to pronounce it.

“APO... AP... APO...” he tried to say APOGEOTROPICAL, but his mouth simply wouldn’t cooperate.

“Hello, Castiel Gabriel Malone. I’ve placed a sesquipedalian binding on you, so you won’t remember how to pronounce your focus word until I feel like liberating you. That won’t be for some time, though, so don’t feel anxious.”

“What happened to Nimrod?” Cas asked, finding that he could say this perfectly well.

“Oh, Nimrod will be fine when he defrosts.” Azazel replied, sounding bored.

“What do you want with me?” Cas was still very angry, but figured that if he couldn’t act immediately, then the best he could do was gather information.

“That’s right, you don’t know exactly who I am. I’m Azazel Teer, your brother.”

What?! Cas absolutely refused to believe this.

“Liar!” he shouted, feeling like a child throwing a temper tantrum, but still convinced that he spoke the truth. “I’m an only child!”

“Oh, please, Castiel, don’t embarrass yourself. Surely by now you’ve realized that those mundanes that mother burned weren’t your real family?” Azazel laughed condescendingly, and stood up to look out of the window at the dark Egyptian night outside.

“They’re more family than the people who killed them!” Cas glared. “Let Holly out!” Azazel laughed again and turned to look Cas in the eye.

“All in good time, Castiel. But for now, your little Marid girlfriend will stay safely in her bottle.” Even as Azazel spoke, Cas felt himself going red all over again with a new mixture of embarrassment and fresh anger. However, instead of shouting again, Cas forced his voice into controlled calmness.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Cas said quietly, dangerously. “Holly’s my best friend. Let her out, now.”

“Again, I think not. It’s rather cute, though, how much you get yourself worked up over a trifle like her.” Azazel snickered unpleasantly. “We’re old enemies, her family and our family. But I’ll cut you a deal. If you ever want to see Nimrod’s daughter again, you must do exactly as I tell you, or I throw this flask to the bottom of the sea. Have I made myself quite clear?”

“Transparent.” Cas said through gritted teeth, his eyes on Holly’s hip flask, which Azazel was now holding dangerously close to the open window. Azazel smiled, walked over to the miniature refrigerator, and put Holly’s hip flask in.

“Lovely. Now, I suppose that I shall unteach everything that Nimrod has already poisoned you with. Let’s begin, shall we?”


	13. Family Ties

**Chapter 12: Family Ties**

As soon as he was sufficiently melted, Nimrod paced back and forth, shivering mightily and his mind racing.

“Mark,” Nimrod said finally, for it took awhile for his thoughts to reach his mouth, “is your sister’s middle name really Imelda?”

Mark nodded. “Yup. She’d never admit it, though.” Nimrod nodded thoughtfully and paced some more.

“Did your parents name her?” Nimrod asked.

Mark thought carefully for a moment before answering. “I don’t think so. Dad always said that the djinn who found Holly named her that.” Nimrod whirled around, his sopping wet red tie smacking him squarely in the face. Impatiently, Nimrod pushed it away.

“A djinn found Holly? What did this djinn look like? Do you know?” Nimrod asked excitedly.

“Dad never said exactly what she looked like, but he always said that she was a very beautiful Englishwoman. Why?”

Nimrod ignored Mark’s question. “I thought as much.” he said grimly, and pulled his cell phone out, shook some of the water out of the workings, and dialed a number.

“Who are you calling, Uncle Nimrod?” John asked, although he suspected that he already knew.

“My wife.” Nimrod replied as the phone rang. A few seconds later, miles away in Kandahar, Afghanistan, Alexandra picked up.

“Yes, Nimrod? What is it?” she said. Alexandra sounded slightly irritated, as she always did these days, but Nimrod knew better than to blame her for it.

“Alexandra, this is of the utmost importance. I need to know exactly what you named our daughter. Please.”

“Holly Imelda... something. I’ve forgotten what last name she grew up with, not that it matters, really. Why, exactly are you asking me this, Nimrod?” Alexandra’s voice now held a dangerous edge to it, and Nimrod knew that he must answer carefully.

“That last name wouldn’t happen to be Coomes, would it?” He asked, in an effort to avoid the question.

“That sounds familiar... but you haven’t answered my question, Nimrod. Have you found her?”

Nimrod took a deep breath, preparing himself to lie. “I think so. Thank you for your help, Alexandra.”

Alexandra said farewell, not without a considerable amount of suspicion, and Nimrod quickly ended the call.

“What did Aunt Alexandra say?” Philippa asked her uncle carefully. 

Nimrod sighed and shook his head. “I don’t believe it,” he said to himself. “I just don’t believe it. My daughter and Azazel’s brother-- best friends. How did this happen? It is simply inconceivable.”

“Does that mean--?” John began as he caught on, and Nimrod nodded.

“Yes, John. Holly is my daughter. And, if Azazel’s taunting is to be believed, Castiel is his brother.”

“Hold up a minute,” Mark said, trying to process all of this new information, but Nimrod shook his head.

“We don’t have a second to spare, Mark. Azazel will try to turn Castiel’s head, and attempt to do the same to Holly. We simply cannot have either of them turn into evil djinn!” Nimrod snapped.

Mark blinked again in amazement, and finally spoke. “What?” 

“You heard me, Mark. Now is the time for action. We must all go back to my house and collect Groanin. We need to plan our next move carefully.”

“What is this, chess? My little sister and her best friend could be in mortal danger!” Mark retaliated.

“Do you think that I don’t know that already? Hurry up!” Nimrod began to shepherd Mark and the twins over to the white Cadillac, and they all filed in.

“It may as well be chess. We’ve already lost both our knights.” Philippa said, as Creemy started the car up. Nimrod nodded.

“Yes, Philippa. The knights are indeed gone.” Nimrod sighed.

* * *

 

Holly shivered. She’d heard every word of Azazel’s and Cas’s conversation, but now all was silent, cold stillness, as though she had been placed in a completely sealed room. Even though she was wearing a thick, fur coat, a scarf, earmuffs, a fleece-and-knit cap, mittens, several pairs of woolen stockings, and had several warm blankets stacked on top of her, Holly was still freezing. She had even turned her oven up to its maximum heat (about 500 degrees Fahrenheit), and left the door of it wide open in hopes of warming herself, but nothing seemed to help. Not even her charcoal pills made her feel really warm. And unless she was sitting about two inches from the open oven, Holly didn’t have enough power to make even one of the small, silvery pills.

Despite her best efforts, however, the temperature inside the jade-capped hip flask continued to drop steadily, over the span of several weeks, until Holly became so cold that she was in a state of semi-frozenness, lost consciousness, and fell into an icy dream.

There was Cas, grinning companionably as usual, but why did he have the body of a black-and-gold striped snake? And why was Nimrod wearing a white crown? Who was the tall, dark-skinned woman wearing a white tiara and standing next to Nimrod? Why were Holly’s hands tied up? Why did she have a sudden craving for apples and sugar cubes? Who was that, whispering a word into her ear? And where on Earth did the red glow that illuminated everything come from?

* * *

 

Cas scowled at Azazel. Azazel, being sound asleep, didn’t respond, but his pet Egyptian cobra hissed at Cas menacingly from its position on the mini-refrigerator. Cas scowled at it, too. Cas had never been frightened of snakes, not even the ones that were quite deadly, and had once made friends with a small garter snake that lived in Central Park, though he never saw it again. Careful not to make the slightest noise, Cas tiptoed over to the mini-fridge, and opened it. Not seeing the hip flask with his best friend in it, Cas opened the small metal door near the top of the mini-fridge and observed the contents of the freezer. Behind a hunk of raw, unidentifiable meat, Cas saw it! Without thinking, Cas reached in and picked up the silver hip flask. His eyes bugged out at the pain of touching the frozen metal, but Cas bit his lip, and quietly replaced Holly’s hip flask with the one that had contained Cas, hoping that Azazel wouldn’t notice that it didn’t have a jade cap. 

After several minutes of warming the cold metal flask up, Cas was able to put it down on the windowsill and carefully whisper into it.

“Hol,” he whispered. “Hol, can you hear me?”

Inside the flask, Holly’s eyes snapped open. She felt dizzy and confused, and still quite cold. Shivering, she removed her hat and earmuffs. Her hair had frozen and was strangely stiff, but even as she looked up at the jade stopper, she could feel herself melting.

“Cas?” she called, trying to warm herself up more, even as she was edging closer to her open oven. “Is that you?”

Cas breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”

“Yep. I’ve been freezing, though. What happened to me, anyway?”

“You were in the freezer. Be quiet, Azazel’s asleep, and I don’t want to wake him up.” Cas looked around to look again at the evil djinn, to be sure that he was still fast asleep.

“Really? Lemme out, Cas! It’s awful in here, I hate it! How many days has it been?”

“Shh, Hol! What do you mean, days? It’s only been a few hours.”

“You mean to tell me that time is different in here? Aw, dang.”

“In any case,” Cas continued, “I can’t let you out. I’m sorry, Hol, but Azazel will feel it. He’s taken away my power, you see.”

“I heard. A sesquipedalian binding, wasn’t that what he called it?”

“Mm-hm. Wait, you heard all of that?”

“Yeah...” Holly wasn’t sure where Cas was going with this.

“Did you hear what he said about your being Nimrod’s daughter?” Cas sounded more excited now.

“Yes.” Holly said. “Yes, I did.”

“It means that you’re actually a Marid! D’you remember what else he said, about your family and his family being old enemies? He probably hates you!”

“His family is your family too, Cas. That is, if Azzy’s to be believed. Wouldn’t that make you hate me, too?”

Cas went very quiet for a few minutes. “No,” he said finally, sounding hurt. “Hol, I don’t hate you. You’re my best friend, and you always will be. I promise.”

It may have been Holly’s imagination, but she could swear that she felt a little crackle of something similar to electricity in Cas’s last two words: ‘I promise.’ Despite this, Holly smiled. It was good to have such a loyal friend, even if he was related to her family’s mortal enemies.

“And you’ll always be my best friend, too, Cas. Now, since you can’t let me out, what’s your plan?” She grinned.

Cas frowned more intensely. “The hotel room we’re in has a window overlooking the Nile. If I throw you out of the window into the river, then you’ll probably drift downstream. I’m just counting on something washing you onto shore in Egypt, but even if you drift all the way out to the Mediterranean, at least you won’t be in Azazel’s freezer. I’ll text John to tell the others that you’re safe. But don’t worry. I know that they won’t rest until they’ve found you.”

“Cas, wait!” Holly said, but it was too late. Cas had already dropped the hip flask into the raging river below. He smiled as he heard a slight splash down somewhere in the moonlit darkness below, and took out his phone to text-message John.


	14. Relying on Luck

**Chapter 13: Relying On Luck**

John’s cell phone beeped.

“Sounds like you’ve got a text,” Philippa commented, and yawned. 

It was around 5:00 the following morning, and all of them, (John, Philippa, Nimrod, Mark, Groanin, and Creemy) were quite exhausted, having searched for Holly, Cas, and Azazel all night. The sun was just mounting over the horizon as Creemy drove them back to Cairo. 

John yawned as well and pulled his phone out of his pocket to see who had texted him. His eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw who it was from.

“It’s from Cas!” he shouted, loud enough to make everyone in the Cadillac suddenly feel very awake.

“What does it say?” Nimrod asked, ignoring, for the moment, his irritation at the very act of text messaging.

John opened the message and read it quickly to himself before repeating.

“It says: ‘hol-- in nile. look 4 hipflask. hurry!  --cas.’”

“Holly’s in a hip flask in the Nile?!” Mark was very worried. “Will she be okay?”

“Being what she is, and being as intelligent as she is, I’d say that she will be quite all right.” Nimrod nodded.

“Never mind all that. We ought to be trying to find the lass. I say, we should be out there looking for her in the river!” Groanin brought their attention back to the issue at hand.

“Yes, you’re quite right, Groanin. Creemy, take us to the Kasr Al bridge, would you? If luck is with us, then we ought to be able to find her.” Nimrod told his Egyptian chauffeur. 

Mark wasn’t quite sure that relying on luck was the best tactic to take, but since Nimrod was a djinn, Mark supposed that luck would have to do for now. In the driver’s seat, Creemy nodded and accelerated the Cadillac, heading for the Kasr Al bridge, a bridge in Cairo spanning the width Nile River that was not too far north from Nimrod’s house in Garden City.

Several minutes later, Nimrod, Mark, John, and Philippa were searching through the shallows under the Kasr Al bridge, quite ignoring the horrible mud stains they would have after they found the hip flask.

However, it was none of those searching the shallows who found the hip flask that was Holly’s prison. It was Groanin, or, more accurately, it was the middle-aged Egyptian peddler Faruq Qadir who had found the jade-capped hip flask only a few meters upriver, where it had washed ashore and caught his eye, glittering in the morning sunlight.

He had picked it up and looked around to try and see if anyone had perhaps dropped it from the bridge, and seeing no one, Faruq Qadir smiled and placed the expensive-looking hip flask at the top of his cart full of the junk he liked to call his ‘wares,’ mostly old, discarded glass bottles in a variety of shapes, battered and dented cooking pans, small bits of jewelry that he had been able to buy from another peddler, in the hopes of selling it to some gullible foreigners at a profit. His newest acquisition, however, looked to be almost brand-new and would doubtless fetch a very nice price for Faruq, enough to buy plenty of bread to feed his young children. The prospect made Faruq smile even wider and whistle cheerily as he made his way down the road that ran alongside the Nile River. Business was never as good in the daytime as it was at Night, when the desert city cooled off and people went out to shop and socialize, but it was still relatively early when he reached the Kasr Al Bridge and saw the foreigners mucking about in the shallows under the bridge, apparently looking for something. At the same time as Faaruq Qadir paused to stare at Nimrod, Mark, John, and Philippa searching the shallows under the bridge, he was spotted by Groanin, who muttered to himself about

“Bloody Egyptians gawping at everyone,” before he spotted, shining at the top of the heap of wares in Faruq’s cart, the hip flask. Groanin’s eyes widened, and he wasted no time in hurrying to inform his employer of his discovery.

“Nimrod, you’d better get back up here and have a look at this! I think I found the lass, or at the very least her hip flask!”

“Really? Where?” Nimrod looked up at his butler hopefully, and Groanin pointed to the Egyptian peddler, who was beginning to move past them already.

Before Nimrod had time to react, Mark was out of the river like a shot and was shouting after Faruq Qadir “Wait! Please!” in his clumsy Arabic.

Faruq turned and stopped, smiling broadly when he saw Mark sprinting towards him. “Ah, what can I do for you my young friend? I am Faruq Qadir, peddler of many useful items Would you like to see my wares? Perhaps a glass perfume bottle to give to your lady friend for her latest scent, or a nice hat woven from Nile reeds to keep the sun out of your eyes?” Faruq asked him in Arabic, pulling one ware after another from the cart. Mark barely understood a word of any of what Faruq Qadir was saying, but nevertheless he shook his head.

“No. I want that.” He pointed at the jade-capped hip flask. Faruq Qadir was delighted, though he knew that he had to sell the item cleverly if he and his children were to eat well that night.

“Ah, this is a very fine item, very fine indeed. Made from the finest--”

“You can skip the formalities, just give us the hip flask. Here, this should be adequate.” Nimrod rescued Mark from having to try and understand to Faruq Qadir speak quick and persuasive Arabic. Faruq Qadir watched carefully as Nimrod pulled out his wallet and extracted a wad of greasy bank notes, worth easily five times the monetary value of the hip flask. Faruq Qadir could hardly believe his luck, and, taking the piastres, wasted no time in handing over the hip flask, bowing gratefully and unable to stop himself from smiling as he went on his way with a spring in his step.

By now, John and Philippa had joined the others on the bridge, dripping with river water and mud, but no one particularly cared. Everyone was more interested in examining the hip flask.

“That’s the one Azazel had, I’m sure of it!” Philippa announced, examining the cap. “Is that jade?” she asked Nimrod, who put on his glasses to get a better look at the object.

“Yes, Phil. It is jade. Which means that I can’t open it. You do it, Mark. Just as soon as we get back onto shore, that is.” Nimrod led the way up to the sidewalk, Mark, John, and Philippa following closely. Mark still couldn’t quite believe that they had found the very same container that his little sister had been abducted in. Perhaps, if this was really the same hip flask that Holly had been in, then perhaps she wasn’t there anymore.

“What if she’s not in here anymore?” John asked, voicing Mark’s doubts as though he had read Mark’s mind.

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we, John? Go ahead and unscrew the cap, Mark.” Nimrod told John. Nervously, Mark did as he was told, and when the jade lid of the hip flask was removed, Mark braced himself for whatever was about to happen.

Only nothing did.

“That’s strange,” Philippa said.

“Strange indeed,” agreed Nimrod. “Either Holly is no longer in there, as John suggested, or she has been rendered unable to perform a transubstantiation and exit the flask. Perhaps I had better pop in there and see what’s the matter. Don’t wave it around while I’m in there, Mark.”

Nimrod turned himself into white smoke and transubstantiated himself into the hip flask. When he had rematerialized within the metal container, Nimrod almost gasped. The interior of Holly’s hip flask was a shambles from its fall from the hotel window and its rough journey down the Nile. Keeping his head, but fearing the worst, Nimrod began to search for Holly, calling her name over and over with no response. There was a red leather armchair resting on its side next to a large television screen that had smashed to pieces. The small, chrome table had overturned, along with the red, egg-shaped chair that sat next to it, food from the pantry was scattered everywhere, along with broken shards of glass from a computer screen and an electric lamp that had been shattered. Finally, beside the bright red radio, Nimrod found his daughter, unconscious, her right arm crushed beneath the fallen refrigerator, and her black hair matted with dried blood from a head wound likely caused by the quite significant impact that the radio must have caused. First Nimrod attempted to move the refrigerator manually, but failing this, he made it vanish, and examined Holly more closely. She was breathing, but only just. Nimrod carefully picked her up, taking extra care with her arm and head, and with another iteration of “QWERTYUIOP,” Nimrod created what was the equivalent of a hospital room, with equipment that was high-tech enough to rival that of any top hospital on the planet.

“Nimrod!” Mark called into the neck of the hip flask just as Nimrod carefully set Holly down on the soft hospital bed he had created. “What’s going on in there?”

“Holly has been knocked unconscious, and her arm has been badly broken. She’s much too delicate to transubstantiate right now!” Nimrod called back, and suddenly, he was struck by an idea. “Mark, tell Creemy to drive us back home, and when you get there, put the flask on the radiator in my library. The twins will show you. The extra heat ought to help revive Holly.” 

“Okay,” Mark replied, and set about doing the task set him, while Nimrod sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair at Holly’s bedside, and busily setting her arm in a cast, djinn-style, with the bandages, needles, and other equipment working by themselves. While this was being done, Nimrod examined Holly’s injured head once more, carefully bandaging it up without the use of his power, and then set about taking an x-ray photograph of Holly’s injuries.

Holly woke up, what seemed like several weeks later, and saw Nimrod, sitting at her bedside reading a copy of The Daily Telegraph, and checking on Holly’s condition every few seconds with a look of genuine concern.

“Nimrod?” she croaked, her throat completely dry from lack of water. Holly didn’t remember much before she had been hit on the head by the radio, but now both her head and right arm throbbed, as though they had been subjected to the most painful of traditional tortures.

“Yes, Holly. It’s me. Can I get you a glass of water, or something?” Nimrod asked, throwing aside his newspaper.

“Water sounds good,” Holly smiled, and sat up as best she could using only her left hand for support. Nimrod stood and fetched her a glass of water from the kitchen sink, which he had fixed up nicely. Holly looked around the hip flask, blinking from the bright, white light that illuminated it now. Everything seemed to have been fixed, and there was not a broken television or overturned chair in sight. Nimrod came back and handed Holly the small glass cup he had filled with cool water. Holly drank it thirstily, wondering when she had last had something to drink. “Are we still inside the hip flask?” Holly asked Nimrod, and Nimrod nodded.

“Yes, Holly, we are indeed still inside the hip flask. I’ve modified it to suit your current needs.” Nimrod said.

Holly blinked around the flask for a few more seconds, and then asked another, much more serious question.

“Was what Azazel told Cas true? That I am your daughter, and Cas is Azazel’s brother?” Really all that Holly felt like doing was simply lying there, immobile, until the pain passed, but Holly had to know if this was true.

“Yes, Holly. Azazel spoke the truth. In point of fact, I only figured it out yesterday afternoon, after I defrosted.” Nimrod said gently. Holly nodded slowly. She supposed that she did, in fact, look quite similar to Nimrod, and she recalled that when she had first met Nimrod, in her dream that she had experienced while her wisdoms were being extracted, that he had seemed familiar to her somehow, in the way that one feels when they see an actor or actress that they almost but not quite recognize in a movie they are watching. Holly also recalled, from her dream, that Nimrod had mentioned having wisdom teeth with deep roots, just like Holly did. In Holly’s mind, Nimrod being her father was the thing that made the most sense to her now.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not entirely surprised.” She confessed, and looked up at the open neck of the bottle. “Can’t we get out of here now?” Holly asked.

Nimrod shook his head. “No, I’d like you to not use your djinn power for a moment or two longer. Your head took quite a beating from that radio, and that’s not to mention your arm. We’re on the radiator in the library of my house in Cairo, and it may be another moment or two until you’re strong enough to perform a transubstantiation. After we’ve done that, then will be the time to find Castiel.”

“Do you know if Cas is okay?” Holly almost had tears in her eyes at the mention of her best friend. Nimrod sighed and shook his head.

“No, unfortunately. When Azazel discovers that Castiel essentially delivered you back to us safely, Azazel will be quite furious, I imagine.” Nimrod frowned. 

There was a short pause while Holly digested this information. “I hope Cas will be all right.” She murmured, looking down at her broken arm.

“As we all do,” Nimrod assured her. Holly looked up to discover that Nimrod was gazing intently, and a little melancholically, at her face. Holly felt herself flush and she looked away quickly.

“What is it? Do I have dirt on my nose or something?” Using her good hand, Holly rubbed the bridge of her nose self-consciously.

“Hm? Oh, no! No, not at all, Holly. It’s just... Well, you look so like your mother. I don’t know why I shouldn’t have recognized you on the spot.”

Holly looked back at Nimrod, studying him critically, examining the genetic similarities they shared. “I look sort of like you, too, you know.” She reminded him. Nimrod smiled thinly.

“Yes, I suppose you do. It looks like you inherited my nose. Sorry about that.”

“You made a joke.” Holly noticed.

“Hm.” Nimrod nodded. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“It was funny. Sorry I didn’t laugh, but you know, I’m still worried about Cas.” Holly’s voice caught in her throat as she reminded herself. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself.

“I know, Holly.”

“I think I inherited your eyes, too.” Holly said, changing the subject quickly. Nimrod’s light brown eyes met Holly’s, and the two smiled weakly at each other.

“So you have.” Nimrod agreed. “Though I believe the shape is more evocative of Alexandra than myself.”

“Genetics are weird.” Holly commented.

“They’re only science. Although I suppose you want to see a photograph of Alexandra, don’t you?”

“Do you have one?”

Nimrod sighed, and reached into his jacket pocket, quickly withdrawing a red leather wallet, from which he extracted an old, black and white yellowing photograph of four people. Two of them were obviously Nimrod and John and Philippa’s mother, Layla, but the other man and woman Holly didn’t recognize.

Nimrod pointed to the tall black woman in a white wedding dress standing next to him in the photograph, smiling her dazzling smile, as the Nimrod in the photograph grinned blissfully, all dressed up in a formal suit. “That’s Alexandra. Your mother.”

“Oh.” Holly peered at the photograph. Nimrod was right: Alexandra did resemble Holly quite a bit. Holly saw similarities in their hair, the shape of their faces-- nothing more extraordinary than a normal familial resemblance.

“Who’s that guy standing next to you?” Holly asked, shifting her attention from Alexandra as she handed the photograph back to Nimrod. “Is he Alexandra’s brother or something? They look really similar.”

Nimrod gave the photograph a fleeting look before placing it back where it belonged in his wallet. “Yes. He died several years ago though.” He answered, quiet with bittersweet grief. Then he cleared his throat and stood. “In any case, I think that you’ve now recovered enough that I can take you out of here without causing you a fatality.”

“But I’m too weak to--” Holly protested, but Nimrod interrupted her.

“I’ll help you, don’t worry. Come along.” Nimrod took Holly’s left hand, and transubstantiated himself and his daughter out of the hip flask, observed by John, Philippa, Mark, and Groanin.

When Holly materialized, closely following Nimrod, she immediately collapsed into a squashy red leather armchair, breathing heavily and crying quietly.


	15. A Change of Scenery

**Chapter 14: A Change of Scenery**

“Holly?” Philippa asked. “Are you okay?” Holly nodded, still in tears.

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Holly sniffled. Then she took several deep breaths to calm herself, and Nimrod ordered Groanin to make a cup of strong tea.

“What happened, kiddo?” Mark asked his little sister, seating himself on a footstool opposite Holly’s armchair. Holly took another deep breath before relating the events that seemed to be burned into her memory.

“Well, when Azazel kidnapped me and Cas,” Holly began.

“Cas and I,” Mark corrected automatically, and Holly made a face at him. Mark had the grace to look suitably cowed. “Sorry. Go on.”

“... Kidnapped Cas and I, he took us to some hotel. I don’t know what one, but Cas said that it was right by the Nile. That’s how he had the opportunity to toss me out of the window, you see. In any case, I doubt that Azazel will stick around for very much longer once he finds out that Cas sent me on my way. I’m worried about Cas-- Azazel will be furious!” Holly finished. Then she shook her head, just as Groanin came back with a steaming cup of tea and gave it to her. “How many weeks ago was it that I was kidnapped, anyway?” Holly asked.

Nimrod sighed. “I see I neglected to tell you about djinn bottles. It’s actually only been about 24 hours, Holly.”

“There that is again! I feel like it’s been weeks and weeks-- over a year!” Holly began to sip the tea that she had been given.

“It only felt like a year,” Philippa explained. “A djinn entering a bottle or other container requires that they step out of three-dimensional space, and by doing this, they step out of the regular outside pattern of time. So when you entered the hip flask, you were probably spiralling in clockwise, in accordance with the normal hemispheric rotation, right?”

Holly nodded. “So you’re saying that time has a different relation to the space I occupy in a bottle, is that it?” John, Philippa, and Nimrod all nodded.

“In the northern hemisphere, entering a container clockwise makes time go slower, and faster if you go in counterclockwise.” John finished.

“You’ll discover, Holly, that everything a djinn can do is the result of good, old-fashioned physics.” Nimrod told his daughter.

Mark stood up. “This is all very well and good, Nimrod. But what about Cas? How are we going to find him?”

Holly nodded earnestly. “I can’t bear to think what Azazel will do to him.” She finished her tea and handed the teacup and saucer over to Mark, who took it without a word.

“But what is Azazel up to? It’s obvious to me that he must have some great and/or horrible plan for his revenge on Jonathan Teer for stopping him up in a bottle.” Philippa said, looking over to Nimrod, who nodded.

“And the question remains,” He agreed, standing and striding over to the radiator upon which the jade-capped hip flask-- Holly’s prison-- still rested. “Where is he heading to now? What does he intend to do with Cas?” He picked up the hip flask and examined it thoughtfully. “And why would he kidnap Holly as well?” He mused. He began to pace the length of the library in earnest, becoming deep in thought.

* * *

 

Azazel paced the length of the Persian carpet that decorated the floor of the hotel room. He had an air of utmost calm about him, an air that made Cas’s heart crawl its way into his throat. A deafening silence permeated the room, and the only sounds that Cas heard were the soft padding of Azazel’s expensive shoes on the carpet, and Cas’s own heart thumping in his ears.

“I had hoped,” Azazel began softly, somehow seeming more frightening than it would be had he flown into a rage. “I had so hoped that you would prove yourself. That you wouldn’t take the chance I gave to you, Castiel. Silly of me, to suppose that you wouldn’t.”

“What... What are you talking about?” Cas asked, trying hard to feign innocence.

“You know very well what I am speaking of, Castiel. The hip flask in the freezer. It’s gone, and so is the Marid.” Azazel sighed. “Please, do understand that I hold you in the highest respect, brother. We’re equals, you see. But you’ve made me dreadfully disappointed, and I don’t much care for that.”

Cas swallowed uncomfortably. “What are you going to do to me?” he asked, his voice cracking in fear. Azazel stopped  pacing to look Cas directly in the eyes. Green eye met green eye, and Cas began trembling.

“Me? Hm. Good question. I’ll tell you what: I’ll be kind. I’ll take the Sesquipedalian binding off of you and put a djinnhibitor on you instead. You still have much to learn, and you can’t do that when you don’t have your focus word. Besides, without furnishings, a bottle is going to be very uncomfortable. Here, MUMPSIMUS!” Cas stumbled backwards as a blast of hot air hit him, full on. He suddenly remembered exactly how to pronounce his focus word, but Azazel spoke again before Cas had time to act. “Don’t waste your breath trying to turn me into a flea. It won’t work-- that’s the point of a djinnhibitor binding. I did it so that you can make yourself quite comfortable in here.” Azazel smiled, rather nastily, Cas thought. “You’ve caused my plan to fast-forward, Castiel. You haven’t stopped me. Now, give me your cell phone. It has served its purpose.”

Shaking violently, Cas reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone, which he handed over to Azazel, flinching as Azazel’s hand brushed his own. Azazel smirked, and crushed the cell phone to dust in his hands. Then, taking a small but strange-looking blue glass bottle, Azazel uncorked it and brandished the neck at Cas. “Goodbye, brother. MUMPSIMUS!”

Cas tried to resist, but found that he had no choice but allow himself to be turned to black smoke and spiral into the bottle.

He heard the sound of a dull thudding as Azazel tapped the cork back into place.

Cas was well and truly trapped.

* * *

 

“I do hope that Azazel hasn’t bottled Cas up!” Holly said, and winced. Her arm, which hadn’t bothered her at all before, was beginning to remind Holly what exactly it meant to be ‘shattered in several places.’

Philippa put an arm around her newly discovered cousin’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right, Holly.” She soothed. “We’ll find Cas no matter what, I promise.”

Holly sniffed tearfully and tried to rub the tears from her eyes, only succeeding in making her face puffier and more flushed than it had already been. “Yes, but Cas could be being tortured right now for all we know!” she said hysterically, “and we have no idea where they could be-- I don’t even know where we were to begin with!”

“Hey! Kiddo! Calm down, it’ll be fine.” Mark knelt down before his sister and placed a comforting hand on her head. “We can find Cas, all we have to do is think.” He glanced at Nimrod. “Right, Nimrod?”

Nimrod nodded, and walked over to the tall oak bookshelf and ran a finger across the spines of the many books. “To speak the truth, I’m not entirely sure myself what research we can do. At this point, it’s all guesswork.” he said.

“Maybe you overheard something, Holly.” John suggested reasonably. “Could you hear anything of what was going on outside when you were in the hip flask?”

Holly nodded. “Until Azazel put me in the freezer, I could hear most everything, I think.” She looked at the floor.

“He put you in the freezer?!?” Nimrod turned from the shelves, aghast. Then he shook his head. “No matter. You’re still alive, and that’s what matters. We can worry about that later. Meanwhile, while you try to remember anything you overheard, the rest of us will try to glean all the information we can about Azazel and what he’s been up to since he resurfaced.”

“What about researching where Azazel popped up again?” Philippa asked. “Do you have any idea where that was, Uncle?”

“Didn’t you say something about the Balearic Islands?” John said, continuing in the same vein as his twin sister.

“Yeah, couldn’t Azzy have resurfaced somewhere in Spain?” Philippa asked, and John looked at her in surprise.

“What does Spain have to do with islands in the Caribbean?” He asked.

Philippa rolled her eyes. “The Balearic Islands are off the east coast of Spain, dummy. In the Mediterranean? Geez, didn’t you take geography?”

John scowled at his sister. “Well, excuse me for not knowing everything.”

Holly wasn’t paying attention to the twins’ squabbling. She wasn’t paying any attention to anything but the floor at her feet. Something was bugging her, and she couldn’t quite remember what exactly that something was.

A word? Two words? There were two, yes... No. Not two, three. Three words that had been whispered in her ear by some mysterious person.

“Vidrio, Madrid, Diego.” She whispered to herself. Had those been the three words? “Vidrio, Madrid, Diego.”

“What’s that you’re saying, Holly?” Nimrod turned, a book already in hand. Mark, too was gazing curiously at his sister.

Holly looked up at them. “I don’t understand it, but for some reason, the words ‘Vidrio, Madrid, and Diego’ are important. They mean something.”

“Madrid? Like the city, maybe?” Philippa offered.

“Can’t think of anything else. Is this something that you overheard when you were in Azazel’s clutches, Holly?” John asked. Holly furrowed her brow.

“I can’t quite recall. I think so, though.”

Nimrod, meanwhile, had gone quite pale. “Do you recall the glass shop I was telling you about on the carpet ride here?”

“I remember that,” John said, nodding.

“What about it?” Philippa asked.

“I’m not sure. But ‘vidrio’ Is the Spanish word for glass. The glass shop I was referring to is owned by a man named Diego Ramirez.”

“It does seem to fit, doesn’t it? But how do we know that this is where Azazel is headed for?” Mark asked reasonably.

“Hm.” Nimrod pondered, then seemed to think of something. “Excuse me for a moment, please.” He hurried out of the library with considerable haste.

“Holly, can you try and remember where you heard those words?” Philippa coaxed again. Holly thought harder for a moment or two, then sighed.

“I haven’t the faintest clue,” she admitted gloomily. “I just hope that it helps us find Cas.”

“Eureka!” Nimrod shouted from wherever he had vanished to, loud enough to be heard throughout the entire first floor of the house.

John and Philippa sprinted towards Nimrod’s voice, with Groanin close on their heels, while Holly, Mark, and Creemy followed at a more sedate pace.

“What did you find, Uncle Nimrod? Something about Azazel?” Philippa asked breathlessly, just moments after she and John had barreled through the double doors of Nimrod’s room.

Holly, keen on finding out what Nimrod had discovered, did not pause to look at the twin statues of Anubis outside the doors, nor at any of the strange and rather fascinating possessions that were cast rather untidily about Nimrod’s room.

“Perhaps.” Nimrod nodded. He was at his computer, looking at an internet news website with keen interest. “I’m not sure why no one caught this before, but there was a disappearance from Diego Ramirez’ shop just a few weeks ago. A disappearance that has Azazel’s fingerprints all over it.”

Holly picked her way past the little piles of books and other possessions scattered around on the floor-- somewhere in her mind, Holly realized that her habitual untidiness was yet another thing she must have inherited from Nimrod, since her room in New York had been similarly messy, or at least it had before the fire-- and towards Nimrod’s computer to look over his shoulder at the news article he had found. Naturally, it was in Spanish.

“Madrid-- Professor-- Missing--” She translated clumsily aloud.

“Yes. Alphonso de la Rez, 42, went missing a month ago. Apparently, he was last seen heading for Diego Ramirez’ glass shop with not inconsiderable excitement. There was an investigation, but the Madrid police found nothing. Currently, the top suspect is Diego himself.”

“So are we going to Madrid now?” Philippa asked.

Nimrod nodded. “Yes. That seems to be the best option at this point. I know Diego well, and I’m sure he’ll be willing to speak with me.”

“Are we going by flying carpet again?” Mark asked.

“Yes. There’s no time to catch a plane.” Nimrod told him.

Holly felt slightly sick.

“Awesome!” John grinned. Nimrod frowned. “Keep in mind that these are very desperate circumstances, all of you. Generally, Holly, you want to keep your usage of djinn power to a minimum, since using your power costs some of your life force each time.”

“To Madrid, then.” Mr. Groanin said, and led the way out of Nimrod’s room. “It’ll be nice to get out of this bloody heat and into a more sensible climate, I say it’ll be pleasant.”

Nimrod frowned. “You, Groanin? I would have thought that you’d be less than excited to go to another foreign country rather than back to London.”

Mr. Groanin shrugged. “Comparatively speaking, I’d much prefer Spain to this dreadful heat.”

“I’m going to be rather sad to leave Egypt.” Holly sighed. “I didn’t even get to see the pyramids.”

John, Philippa, and Mark, however, seemed to be looking forward to the change of scenery.

“I’ve never been to Spain,” Mark commented, glancing at Holly, and noticing her smile at his reference.

“Well, what are we standing around here for? We’ve got to get going!” Nimrod said, and began to concentrate.


	16. A Dream or a Nightmare?

**Chapter 15: A Dream Or A Nightmare?**

Being trapped in the small blue bottle, Cas didn’t have much to do. He didn’t much like watching television, especially as the television stations were all in Arabic, and Cas was never a great one for movie-watching. He had given his bottle very Spartan furnishings, and began, very quickly, to grow lonely. 

Sighing heavily, Cas sat down on his rather uncomfortable folding bed. He wondered what Azazel was up to, where they were going. Obviously, Azazel was going to cause mass destruction, that much Cas knew for sure. Cas and Azazel were so different, it was hard to believe that they really could be brothers. Azazel acted every inch the wicked djinn he was, but Cas? Cas hated the very idea of causing real pain to others. True, there was the odd April Fools’ joke, but those were always in good spirits and always just for fun.

Azazel didn’t seem to feel anything but hatred and anger. It was strange, to Cas, that Azazel could feel genuine disappointment in Cas. He had ordered his mother to kill Cas’s adoptive parents without pause. This was not to mention Mark’s dad, stepmother, and uncle. Holly seemed so far removed from everything, yet completely involved in every way imaginable. Cas wondered what she was doing, how she was taking it all. The sudden loss of the only parents she had ever known, the sudden revelation of her true heritage and origins, in many ways, Holly had more strange, sudden truths to deal with than Cas. She must be frantic, Cas thought with a mirthless smile. He knew that Holly had the makings of a truly great djinn, not to mention she was the best friend Cas had ever had. Cas couldn’t quite explain what made Holly such a great friend to him, but he knew that, among other things, Holly would be quite determined to rescue Cas no matter what it took.

Cas, meanwhile, also realized that he himself had his own problems to deal with. He, too, had lost the people he believed to be his parents, and he, too had discovered his hidden origins. Or had he? There still seemed quite a few unexplained things to Azazel’s claim. If Azazel was indeed Cas’s biological brother, and they shared the same pair of biological parents, then who were those parents?

It was the thought of his parents that sparked a thought that slowly developed in Cas’s head. There was definitely an explanation to why Holly had been raised by mundanes, but what about Cas? Azazel certainly seemed not to know anything about it, and if he didn’t, Cas found it reasonable to assume that Dimme Teer wouldn’t know much about why Cas had been spirited away from them. Cas wished he knew why.

A wave of sudden sleepiness overtook Cas, and he fell over onto his side and promptly fell fast asleep.

In his dream, Cas was in a huge underground cave. Cas couldn’t tell quite how large it was, because only a small spot of light was present. The light came from a bronze lamp, rather like the brass one that Nimrod had materialized from during Cas and Holly’s Tammuz. The handle, however, was not bronze, but made of carved, yellowing ivory, crafted in the shape of what seemed to Cas to be an angel in full flight.

“So, Cas,” came a deep, resounding, somber voice from just outside the circle of light. “We meet at last.”

“Who... Who are you?” Cas asked, somewhat fearfully, raising the lamp higher. His voice echoed around the cavern for a good few seconds before the male voice answered.

“I am your namesake, the angel Castiel. I have come on behalf of Gabriel. He’s sorry that he couldn’t make it tonight.” Castiel stepped into the dim light from the lamp, and Cas was faced with a dark-haired, solemn man clad all in perfect white. Cas blinked, and in the moment between his eyes shut and opened again, Cas saw the faint outline of two enormous, snowy white wings. 

“Gabriel? As in, the archangel?” Cas felt even more worried than he already did.

“Yes. He’s busy delivering a message to your friend, Holly Godwin.” Castiel nodded.

“So it’s true, what Azazel said. Nimrod is Holly’s father by blood.” Cas said. 

Castiel sighed. “Yes, that much is true. It is true, also, that you and Azazel Teer share the same parents.”

“Is that what you came to tell me?” Cas lowered the curiously carved lamp again in order to look Castiel in the eyes.

“No. You asked for a message, remember? I’ve come to deliver that message to you.” Castiel stood up straighter, but Cas just looked at him, befuddled.

“What message did I ask for?” he said, squinting up at Castiel.

“You asked for why you were taken away from perdition. I have come to show you why and how.” Castiel raised his right hand towards the roof of the cavern, which was so high up that Cas couldn’t see it. “If you wish to leave, simply let go of the lamp.” Cas heard Castiel say as the air around him lightened and faded into white mist. 

A few seconds later, the mist cleared to reveal a tiny room, the walls covered in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. A weeping blonde woman sat on a stone stool in the corner of the room, cradling a small, fair-haired, very young child in her arms. At the other end of the room, a tall, fair-haired, clean shaven man paced back and forth, his arms crossed, seemingly deep in thought.

“Sister,” he said, his voice a very distinct, very educated English accent. “You know meeting you down here always makes me uncomfortable, so get on with it. What is it you wanted to tell me?” The tall man sounded very impatient with his sister.

“Iblis, do you remember last year when...” The woman trailed off, looking down at the child. By now, Cas had guessed that the child must be Azazel, the woman, his mother, Dimme, and the tall man had to be Iblis Teer.

“Of course. It’s not every day that my little sister gets herself involved in the affairs of demons. Particularly,” Iblis sniffed loudly and disdainfully, “one of the Princes of the Pit.”

Dimme Teer nodded. She looked, to Cas, completely disheveled, and quite far from the way he would have thought an evil djinn should look. “He came to see me again. The Lord of the Flies.” Dimme looked back at her brother. As Iblis realized what she was saying, his features changed from impatience to something near fury. Not quite, though.

“You’re very lucky that our father is no longer head of the Ifrit, otherwise your head would be decorating a pike somewhere! Didn’t I tell you before not to meddle in the affairs of demons?! Well, didn’t I?!” Iblis snarled at her, and Dimme nodded sadly.

“Yes. Several times over. But Iblis, you do not simply refuse a demon, especially one as powerful as him.” she replied quietly, her grasp on her son growing imperceptibly tighter.

“By rights, that thing,” Iblis pointed to the young Azazel, “should have been killed the moment it was born! And so should the other one be. Do you not realize, sister, that you may well have single-handedly destroyed all of djinnkind? Mark my words, you will come to regret not killing your hellspawn children when you could.”

“But...” Dimme began, but Iblis wasn’t finished.

“Are you going to try and tell me again that they’ll both turn out to be perfectly normal djinn? Because you and I already know that that is most certainly not true. Your two children will turn out to have more power than you or I could ever have, with only our Neshamah. Those two will have all the eternal fires of Hell at their disposal. They’ll live long past thousands of years. One of the brats is bad enough, but I don’t know what you’re going to do with two. Are you going to be so frightened of both of them that you can’t walk straight if they tell you to do otherwise?”

Dimme didn’t respond, but wiped the tears away from her face and took a deep breath.

“Dimme, I  _ told _ you, two years ago, didn’t I? I told you that I could excuse such behaviour once--  _ once _ . And now you’ve gone and done it again you...  _ deliberately... _ ” Iblis was shaking with a very strange rage, his dark face flushed with anger.

“Brother, if you would just listen for a mo--” Dimme began, her own voice shaking, though hers with timidity.

“Dimme Teer, you are not my sister any longer.” Iblis interrupted, pointing a furious finger at her. “You have disobeyed your tribe leader after you had been warned. You were warned not to fraternize with demons and you ignored me. From this day on, neither you, nor your hellspawn children, will be a part of the Ifrit Tribe.  _ Now leave _ .”

Dimme stood, a drowsy Azazel still held in her arms, and faced her brother head-on. “You...” she began, her voice thick, but did not finish. Instead, she ran out of the underground chamber, sobbing, her long blond hair fanning out behind her as she ran, hugging Azazel to herself.

“Luck, for those two, means bad luck for every other djinn, good or evil!” Iblis shouted furiously at his sister’s retreating back, and the scene faded back into white mist.

“My father is a demon?” Cas turned to Castiel, horrified. “Why are you helping me, then?”

Castiel looked at Cas somberly. “There is more to your story than this one scene, Cas.” he said. “Would you see it?” Cas nodded, and the mist cleared again, this time to reveal a cramped nursery, with two wooden cribs and a plain rocking chair. Dimme Teer, looking older and more tired than she had before, sat in the rocking chair, sound asleep. Cas drifted over one of the cribs, feeling like a ghost, and looked at the child that slept in it. He received a bit of a shock when Cas realized that the tiny baby with a shock of messy brown hair was him. 

“She’s sacrificed much for the sake of you and your brother.” Castiel explained. “She’s clawed her way past her brother’s disownment and her past to try and make things safer for you both. She’s even lost her powers for your sake.”

“Wait, djinn can lose their powers?” Cas asked. Castiel nodded, but shushed Cas.

“Listen,” he said quietly, and a moment later, the nursery flooded with brilliant white light. Cas had to shield his eyes, such was the intensity. A second or two later, however, the light faded and Cas blinked in surprise. Two angels had appeared in the nursery. One was Castiel, and the other was an equally somber-looking, red-haired fellow. Cas could just barely see the ghosts of feathery white wings.

“Which one is the younger, Janax?” the Castiel from the past asked the red-haired angel. Janax examined the infant Cas and the toddler Azazel, and eventually pointed at Cas. 

“That one. The dark haired one.” Castiel walked over to have a better look at the child. 

“I suppose he is smaller. Now, then, did anyone tell you why we have to move this young djinn?” Castiel asked Janax. Janax nodded.

“He is to be delivered by order of the Almighty. This djinn child will be allowed to choose his own fate; to have great power or to have goodness in his heart.” Janax explained.

“But why?” Castiel persisted, even as he reached out and lifted the infant Cas out of his cradle. Janax merely shrugged.

“I have not been made privy to the exact reasoning, Castiel. I merely know that I must deliver him from this evil.”

Another bright flash of white light later, and the two angels were gone, along with the baby. Cas turned back to Castiel, even as the air around them began to turn back into mist.

“Is that it?” Cas asked, and Castiel shook his head.

“One more scene.” he said, and the fog began to clear for a third time. This time, however, there was something different about the way it cleared, something sinister. The white fog vanished, only to be replaced with total and utter darkness.

“Castiel?” Cas called out to the angel, but there was no reply. Cas could almost feel the darkness pressing in around him on all sides, and he began feeling very claustrophobic. He struggled for each breath. It may have been Cas’s imagination, but he could almost swear that he saw a pair of enormous, evil-looking blood red eyes peer towards him through the darkness, and heard a hissing, almost reptilian voice call to him.

“My son,” it seemed to say. “My second son. Join me in the fight for evil. I am the Lord of the Flies, I am Beelzebub. Join me. You cannot resist for long.” Cas’s hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the still-lit lamp into the palpable darkness below. The effect was instantaneous. In the span of a second, two things happened. First, the voice and eyes, Beelzebub, screamed and vanished. Second, Castiel came back and dragged Cas forcefully backwards, through more swirling white mist. 

“Wake up, Cas!” Castiel shouted. “I can hold him off for another second or two. Go!”

Cas’s eyes flew open. He was damp with sweat, and aching all over from pain that seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere. He was disoriented, and nearly forgot that he was in a bottle, headed towards who-knew-where. All Cas could think about was the worry that he hadn’t woken up in time for Castiel to escape Beelzebub’s wrath.

“Well,” Cas muttered as he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering fearfully with the memory of those evil blood red eyes, “that... explains a few things.”


	17. Reverse Flip in Time

**Chapter 16: Reverse Flip in Time**

“So what if Azazel did make Diego’s friend vanish, what can we do about it?” Mark asked Nimrod, stretching his stiff arms out in front of him.

“I don’t believe that Azazel quite made the fellow disappear, exactly. When he was last in circulation, what Azazel was most infamous for were his bindings, which were powerful enough to rival those of an adult djinn, such as myself. There is a type of djinn binding that a djinn can place on djinn and mundanes alike, called a diminuendo, that causes the subject to shrink, sometimes to the size of the doll, occasionally to the size of an atom. Either way, it’s a binding that can only be reversed by the djinn who first invoked it. Nasty stuff, especially when an Ifrit has something to do with it.” Nimrod explained to him. “Of course, there are plenty of other bindings that Azazel could have used, but if the article I discovered is to be believed, then my friend Diego has attempted to claim that Professor de la Rez  has been turned into an incredibly lifelike doll, thus my suspicions of the use of a Diminuendo binding. Of course, the newspapers have branded poor Diego as insane, but this seems quite unjustified.”

Mark looked thoughtful. “So you’re saying that there isn’t anything we can do for Diego’s friend, at all?” 

“Goodness, me, no! We can report this offense to the Blue Djinn of Babylon, Faustina, blessings be upon her name. She may not do anything about it, but Azazel is already walking on a shaky tightrope when it comes to the djinn justice system. He keeps trying to depose the leader of the Ifrit, first Iblis, and now Jirjis. They’ve been having trouble keeping Azazel under supervision, I believe.”

* * *

 

While Nimrod and Mark were talking, Holly began to feel rather sick. She really did hate being so high up in the air. She had decided that if Nimrod ever wanted to teach her how to control a flying carpet, she couldn’t do it. She was far too distracted by the horrible prospect of causing herself and everyone else that the flying carpet now carried to fall several thousand feet into the Mediterranean Sea. She wished that she wasn’t afraid of heights and falling so much, and, indeed, Holly wasn’t quite sure why she was. However, more than that, Holly wished that she knew if Cas was safe. Still somewhat unsure of her djinn powers, Holly delayed the use of her focus word, for fear that it might just transport her to where Azazel was, and then Cas would probably be in a worse pickle than before. Holly yawned, feeling unnaturally and unusually tired. She tried to stay awake for as long as she could, but eventually, she fell asleep, almost feeling as though someone or something was forcing her to.

When Holly opened her eyes again, she was back in the garden that she had been in when she first encountered Nimrod. She looked around, feeling very apprehensive, but for now, at least, Holly seemed to be alone in the magical garden. She walked around, looking at the enormous apple tree and the two ancient looking columns in the garden. Holly was just beginning to get used to the odd spinning sensation she felt, when, with a dramatic roar of thunder, a man in a pale cream-coloured suit appeared suddenly in between the columns. He had longish curly brown hair, held back in a ponytail, stormy grey eyes, a strong, square jaw, and a somewhat prominent nose. In his right hand, he held a cane, the head of which was carved in the shape of a ram’s head. Rain began to pour down, soaking Holly to the bone within minutes, which she found very odd. It was a dream, wasn’t it? How could she feel wet in a dream?

“Who... Who are you?” Holly shouted at the stranger over the shrieking wind. The man turned towards her but looked up into the sky first.

“Quiet!” he shouted into the sky. The wind and thunder died down, but it continued to rain heavily. The man in the cream-coloured suit seemed a bit annoyed, but sighed and otherwise ignored the weather. He looked at Holly, and Holly shivered. Not because of the rain, but because this man’s stormy grey eyes seemed to contain within them the most powerful, roaring fire that Holly could imagine.

“Who are you?” she repeated fearfully, her eyes open to their fullest extent. She felt that if she wasn’t sopping wet, then her hair would have been standing on end.

“I am Jibril, the Messenger of Allah.” he replied. “Shall we get out of this rain? It’s rather unpleasant.” Gabriel held out his right hand to Holly, holding his cane in the other. Holly simply stood there, getting wetter by the second and absolutely stupefied.

“Jibril... The archangel? The one who visited M... Muhammad?” Holly swallowed loudly as Gabriel nodded.

“Yes, the very same. In any case, child, will you allow me to take us somewhere less rainy or must we stay here in this dreary climate?” he asked. Holly stared at his outstretched hand. “Well?”

It’s only a dream, Holly reminded herself, and took Gabriel’s hand. Immediately, her surroundings began to distort and change, until they had twisted into a cold, snowy street somewhere Holly didn’t recognize. 

“Where are we?” she asked, looking around for some sign that she recognized. At last, the cold caught up with her and she began to shiver violently.

“New York City. 1927. One of my personal favourite years in the United States. However, we don’t have time to linger out here. Come along!”

Gabriel led the way into a nearby hotel, walking briskly so that Holly had to almost run to keep pace with him. During this time, Holly realized that she was wearing a rather odd-looking dress and a hat, under which her hair was styled in a rather becoming reverse flip, and over it all, she wore a heavy fox-fur coat. All that she was wearing was red, and must have been very stylish for the 1920’s.

“Why am I wearing this silly getup?” she asked Gabriel, noticing that he was wearing only white and shades of cream.

“Because it would look very odd if you had shown up around here in jeans and a t-shirt, Holly. We’re not in your mind anymore.” Gabriel said, as if that explained everything. “I don’t want people staring and asking silly questions. We’re rather pressed for time.”

“Do you mean to tell me that we actually are back in the year 1927, in New York?” Holly asked incredulously.

Gabriel looked at her. “I’m an angel,” he said simply. “Your mundane way of thinking is rather dull, isn’t it?” At last, they were in the warm hotel. Gabriel held open the door for Holly, and she walked thankfully into the heated lobby.

“We’re headed for the djinnverso tournament. There’s a few people you ought to meet.” Gabriel walked even faster towards the opposite end of the vast and beautiful lobby.

“Who are we meeting?” Holly asked curiously.

“Ayesha Godwin!” Gabriel called. A very tall, beautiful, dark-haired and otherwise glamorous woman paused, stopping her two (also dark-haired) daughter and son in the process.

“Gabriel?” she asked, sounding somewhat concerned. Holly noticed that she had a crisp English accent. “What is it you want with me?”

“Merely a word,” Gabriel replied, and Ayesha shooed her children on to the djinnverso tournament, but Gabriel called after them, too. “Layla, Nimrod, I’d like to have a word with the both of you, as well.” Holly almost gasped. She looked up at Gabriel for something, either confirmation or denial, but Gabriel gave no sign of anything. 

Layla and Nimrod came over, seeming apprehensive.  
“This is Holly, a djinn, like yourselves. She is in dire need of some advice. Holly, tell them of your predicament, if you will.” Gabriel ordered, and Holly took a deep breath and began.

“Well, my very best friend in the entire world has been kidnapped by a wicked Ifrit, and we’re not sure what to do next. My dad, his butler, my brother, my cousins and I are headed to Madrid as fast as we can, but we don’t know if that will help us any.”

“Why are you going to Madrid?” Ayesha asked. Holly frowned.

“My dad found a news article about a strange disappearance in Madrid that described my friend’s kidnapper perfectly.” Holly explained. Ayesha nodded thoughtfully.

“Hasn’t Gabriel offered you any advice?” She asked, looking curiously at the angel.

“I was under the impression that that’s what he’s trying to do right now.” Holly said, also glancing at Gabriel.

“Yes, indeed. We’re not technically supposed to get involved in djinn matters, but the moment that demons become involved, that’s when we have to act.”

Layla and Ayesha both gasped. The teenage Nimrod, meanwhile, had stealthily slipped away and was now halfway across the room, laughing rudely at a very irritated-looking young man with a red face and equally red hair.

“Demons?” Layla asked, and Gabriel nodded. Holly merely looked sideways at Gabriel.

“What do demons have anything to do with this?” she asked him. 

“We’ll get to that later. Best not to trouble these good djinn.” Gabriel said. Holly didn’t stop staring.

“In any case, I’ve no idea why you came to talk to us, Gabriel. Why didn’t you seek out the Blue Djinn?” Ayesha asked. Gabriel shrugged.

“I wanted Holly to meet you three, that’s all. Thank you for your patience.” Gabriel nodded at Ayesha, and waited patiently as Holly shook Layla’s and Ayesha’s hands, noting, as she did so, how each of them carefully folded their middle fingers back, over their lifelines. Holly copied them.

“Child, should you ever need our help, come visit us in London. Ask for Ayesha Godwin.” Ayesha smiled warmly at Holly, leaving Holly with a strange, almost empty feeling, even as she nodded and smiled back.

Layla turned, scanning the room in search of her brother. “Mother, Nimrod’s got into trouble again.” She tugged on her mother’s sleeve.

Ayesha turned to see what her son was up to this time, and tutted loudly. “Oh, dear. Nimrod! Get over here at once!”

When they were back outside, Holly turned to Gabriel. “Was that my grandmother?” she asked him outright. Gabriel nodded.

“Next year she will be named as the Blue Djinn of Babylon, and her heart will harden beyond a shadow of emotion. Perhaps it is best that you won’t meet her in that state.”

“And so Nimrod-- that teenage Nimrod that I just met-- he’s nearly if not already one hundred years old back in 2012?” Again, Gabriel nodded.

“Yes. Yes he is. We’d best be getting back now, before you’re missed from your corporeal form in that century.”

“What?” Holly asked, but Gabriel merely took her hand again and began dragging her away from the snow-covered New York street. Soon, they were on an entirely different avenue, under a red-and-gold awning that was right in front of what appeared to be a bookstore.

“One more thing you must know, child, is this;” Gabriel began, pausing to look around the darkening street for eavesdroppers. “Cas and Azazel aren’t merely djinn, Holly. Their father is a very, very powerful demon. One of the Princes of Hell-- Beelzebub. It is very unpleasant when demons get involved, so I’d like you to be careful.”

“But is Cas okay? That’s what I really want to know. I don’t care if his father is a demon, Cas could never be capable of anything more malicious than an April Fool’s prank. He’s my best friend, and I want him to be safe.”

Gabriel looked down at the slick-looking bricks, just as the sound of rain on the awning became noticeable. “Holly, you ought to know what Azazel is planning.”

Holly raised an eyebrow. “What is Azzy planning? I assume that he’s in Madrid, is he?”

Gabriel nodded. “Azazel is indeed back in Madrid. He was released from his incarceration by a man named Alphonso de la Rez. He turned Alphonso into a doll, but that is not the end of Azazel’s wrath. He plans to eradicate the entire continent of Europe-- humans, djinn, angels-- everything.”

“From Madrid? How will he manage that?”

“There’s an ancient destructive power that was supposed to be known only to the seven archangels, but somehow, Beelzebub found out about it, and is using his sons to raise up the Red Sun of Madrid for his own gain.”

“He’s using Cas? How?” Holly’s frown deepened. 

“He’s trying to use Cas.” Gabriel corrected himself. “By the Grace of God, Cas was purified of all true evil. He suffers the same temptations, but Allah granted your friend an iron will and a steadfast resolution to only work for the good of all djinnkind, mankind, and angelkind. Cas is what some cruel djinn (and even a few kind ones) would call a freak. He was born to an Ifritah and a demon, but is nothing like either of them. He never really was.”

“Why was Cas chosen to be purified?” Holly asked, even as she felt someone trying to wake her up. Gabriel shrugged.

“It is not my place to question the will of Allah Almighty.” he said gravely. “Oh, and Holly,” he called as Holly began to be dragged backwards, back into her conscious mind, “Look for the morning sun, and there you will find Castiel Malone.”

“What?!” Holly called to him, but Gabriel remained silent

“Holly,” Philippa shook her cousin gently. “Holly, wake up.”

Holly opened her eyes blearily. “What?” she asked, yawning.

“We’ve arrived.”


	18. Sunny Spain

**Chapter 17: Sunny Spain**

“Well, Castiel. Here we are, in sunny Spain.” Azazel told his brother. Really, he found it somewhat insulting that his estranged brother was named for the one who kidnapped him, at least, if Beelzebub was to be believed, and it had been the angel Castiel who had taken Cas away. But Cas didn’t remember the name he had been given at birth. Cas wasn’t tiny little Alistair Teer any longer. Azazel sighed. Why did angels have to ruin everything?

Cas observed Azazel brooding with silent satisfaction from his place in a chair by the closed window. In truth, despite the satisfaction he felt, Cas was also busily sulking. They were in what appeared to be a very fancy pension, a word which here means ‘hotel,’ with lavish rugs and two luxurious king-sized beds, complete with smooth silk sheets. By now, Cas had realized that all of this finery was simply the result of Azazel using his own djinn power, and so Cas remained unimpressed. He almost wished that he was back inside the bottle he had spent what felt like weeks upon weeks in. Suddenly, Azazel pulled up another chair and sat so that he and Cas were at eye level. Azazel’s green eyes bored into Cas’s identical green eyes.

“Castiel,” he said, still staring. “Do you know why I have gone through the trouble of finding you?”

Cas shook his head firmly, absolutely refusing to speak, but felt unable to break the stare.

“It begins with the old leader of the Ifrit, our dear uncle Iblis Teer. Before I turned thirteen, I obeyed him without question, thinking to myself that Uncle Iblis was the most evil djinn in the entire world. He was my hero, not that he ever paid any attention to me. No, our mother was the black sheep of the family, and by extension, so was I. But the very day that my dragon teeth came out, I saw him for what he really was. A fool, ruling legions of other fools. Not even a year later, Iblis proved my point for me by getting himself trapped in a perfume bottle, by a pair of twelve-year-olds, no less!” Azazel paused for effect. Cas didn’t respond. “So, when he finally convinced someone to let him out-- a stupid, ignorant boy from French Guiana,-- dear Uncle Iblis began plotting his revenge against those who trapped him. But the FOOL,” Azazel was roaring now, “got himself disemboweled by a pair of djinn possessing some tigers! And that wasn’t the end of it! The idiot actually thought that he could reverse the flow of luck without any interference-- moreover, he thought that reversing luck for the entire universe was a good idea! Ha!” Azazel paused again, this time to laugh cruelly. “Now the imbecile is trapped inside a jade sepulcher from which he cannot escape, nor can anyone liberate him. Serves him right. In any case, I was next in line. Me. It was my birthright. I was going to be the next leader of the Ifrit, after him-- me, when, because of the utter stupidity of our cousin Jonathan, I was bottled up and left on the beach of Ibiza! So, somehow during my absence, Jirjis Ibn Rajmus got the top spot rather than me! So now I must eliminate Jirjis as well.”

Cas could not restrain himself any longer. “So what do Holly and Nimrod and the rest have to do with any of this?!” he burst out. Azazel smiled evilly.

“I need your little Marid girlfriend to get my revenge properly fired up, you see. I need a good djinn and a bad djinn. I already have Jonathan all bottled up and ready to go.”

“Why do you need them?” Cas asked, worriedly.

“I thought that you’d have figured it out by now, Castiel. I need to sacrifice them both so that I can eradicate all of my enemies.”

“What--? How?” Cas’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Now that Holly’s life and the life of another djinn were in peril, Cas knew that he had to do something to stop Azazel. He just didn’t know how.

Azazel blinked slowly, and continued to stare at Cas, seeming to consider whether or not to tell Cas the truth.

“Irrelevant.” He said finally, much to Cas’s disappointment. “Now, tell me what Holly’s phone number is. Truthfully, please.” Cas stood up.

“No.” he said, and crossed his arms.

“Oh, you’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you? I suppose I have no choice. MUMPSIMUS!” Azazel sighed.

Nothing seemed to happen, at least until Cas opened his mouth to tell Azazel as such. Cas was horrified when a huge black stag beetle came out of his mouth.

“Eeurgh!” Cas shouted in absolute disgust, but a bright red beetle was the next to crawl up Cas’s gullet.

“Will you tell me now?” Azazel asked, a faint smile playing across his face. Cas scowled at him, trying not to feel quite as repulsed as he did by the gigantic beetles. However, more were quick to follow the first two, until Cas finally nodded, tears in his eyes. Azazel smiled more broadly, and repeated his focus word. The beetles stopped coming, and Cas immediately began stomping on those that were now trying frantically to escape the room and Cas’s deadly sneakers.

“Fine.” Cas said sulkily, feeling sick to his stomach.

“The phone number?” Azazel prompted, and Cas coughed a bit, trying to banish the horrid sensation of the beetles crawling their way up his throat, and told Azazel the sequence of numbers that was Holly’s cell phone number. Azazel nodded, and took out his own iPhone.

“You’re calling her right now?!” Cas asked incredulously, and Azazel nodded.

“For all I know, you could have given me the number for a pizza place in New York.” With a word, Azazel had Cas tied up in what seemed to be chains made of pure jade, that came out of a case that lay near the door, and writhed around like live things. Azazel dialed the number and allowed his phone to ring for a few seconds before the answering machine on the other phone answered. Cas, fettered to a hard wooden chair across the room, heard the familiar voice as Holly’s answering message came over the tinny speakers of Azazel’s cell phone.

“Hi, this is Holly Coomes. Leave a message at the sound of the beep--” Azazel hung up before the beep, smiling ominously at Cas.

“We’ll compose a message for her, shall we? Don’t want to go into this without a script.” Azazel picked up a notebook and pen from a table, and began writing.

“What did you do to me?” Cas asked, causing Azazel to sigh.

“It’s called a Quaesitor binding. It’s designed to find the thing you view to be truly disgusting and make it appear in your mouth, in your case, it’s beetles. In my case, it would likely be... vomit, I think. There is nothing worse in this world than an upset stomach. Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me feel ill.”

“Thinking about what? Vomiting? It’s just a natural defense mechanism, and you already ate the stuff, just in a different form.”

Azazel glared at him silently. “I am not amused by this talk, Castiel. Stop it immediately.”

“It’s just vomit,” Cas grinned, enjoying this small advantage over Azazel. Azazel stood up, stretching to his full height, nearly six and a quarter feet.

“I’m warning you, unless you want me to put that Quaesitor right back on you, you’ll shut up.” He threatened. That shut Cas up right away. He absolutely hated beetles, especially big, ones with shiny black shells. He just couldn’t get the way they moved off of his mind whenever he saw a beetle. Their lopsided shuffle across a plain of grass, their hidden wings... They were one of the actually very few things that Cas absolutely could not stand. Cas spat onto one of the expensive Persian carpets, shivering as he was reminded of the unpleasant sensation of the little, barbed feet crawling onto his tongue and out through his mouth. Azazel looked disapprovingly at the pool of saliva that had landed a few feet away. “Keep acting like an animal and I might just turn you into one, Castiel. Behave yourself. I can’t abide poor manners.”

“Like yours, you mean?” Cas scowled.

“You’re speaking nonsense again, Castiel. I pride myself on my good form.” Azazel went back to composing whatever message he was going to send to Holly.

“Like Captain Hook, you mean?” Cas frowned. Azazel looked up for a moment and nodded.

“Yes, I suppose, though I never really enjoyed that book.”

“I did. Especially the bit where Captain Hook got eaten by the alligator!” Cas laughed. He felt almost as though he were losing his mind, and becoming very nasty for it.

Azazel frowned again. “Exactly what are you saying?” he asked, but shook his head. “Never mind, I’ll just shut you up. MUMPSIMUS!” A piece of silver duct tape appeared instantly over Cas’s mouth, and he couldn’t speak any more words of defiance. “Don’t worry. You’ll talk when I need you to.”

Cas could only grunt in reply.


	19. Prophetic Words

**Chapter 18: Prophetic Words**

Nimrod had landed them in one of Madrid’s largest parks, the Parque de Retiro, right near the Plaza de Guatemala. 

“Nimrod,” Holly said, staring intently at the enormous statue of a man on his horse.

“Yes, Holly?” Nimrod replied distractedly, even as he was leading the way out of the park.

“I had a very strange dream on the way here.”

“Did you now? Strange in what way?” Nimrod didn’t sound terribly interested, but Holly paused before going on.

“I was visited by an angel.” She said. John’s eyes lit up.

“Really? An angel? That’s so cool!”

“An angel? Like that guy Samael that challenged me to a wrestling match?” Groanin asked.

“He was nice,” Philippa smiled.

Nimrod sniffed loudly to show his disapproval of the word ‘cool,’ but otherwise ignored the three. “Did they say who they were?” He asked, now giving Holly his full attention.

Holly thought for a moment before answering. “It was Jibril.” Mark gasped.

“You had a dream where Jibril came and visited you?!” He almost yelled. Holly shushed him, looking around to see if anyone had heard him.

“Yeah, Mark. I dunno why, but he was there.”

“What did he look like?” Nimrod asked.

Holly looked up to the cloudless sky. “Well... He was really tall, and he had kind of long brown hair that he wore in a ponytail. Other than that, it’s kind of hazy, but I do remember that he wore a lot of white, and he had absolutely huge feathery white wings.”

“So they’re back to dream-hopping, are they?” Nimrod murmured. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met Gabriel before... Although...”

“Huh?” Holly gasped, and her eyes snapped from the bright blue sky to Nimrod. “But you were there, too! It was December thirtieth, 1927!”

Nimrod stiffened, and turned sharply. “December thirtieth, 1927? Where did you get such a very specific date?”

Holly frowned. “I can’t remember. I swear I knew just a second ago!”

“It was in 1927. How did you know that?” Nimrod seemed to be trying to remember something that had long been forgotten. “That would have been the year before my mother--” He broke off abruptly and shook his head. “It’s impossible, though.”

Holly shrugged, still looking troubled. “I don’t know. I feel like maybe Jibril wanted me to meet someone... But who? Ayesha... Ayesha Godwin, that’s right! And--”

“Yes, I remember now. I was there too, though as I recall, I left the discussion rather quickly. But that girl was you? How?” Nimrod was exceedingly confused. Holly smiled.

“Your mundane way of thinking is rather dull, isn’t it?” She said, as if in a dream. “Jibril’s an archangel. He can do anything he needs to do.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. But what did Gabriel tell you? And how do you know that this wasn’t just a dream?”

“There was something about demons. And what do you mean ‘how do I know this wasn’t simply a dream?!’ You just provided a huge load of evidence to prove that the experience I just went through was not a dream!”

Nimrod looked slightly embarrassed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, Holly. However, it’s the strangest thing: now that you’ve reminded me that I met Gabriel in 1927, I remember it perfectly, but before that, it seemed kind of... fuzzy. As though someone was preventing me from remembering.”

“But Uncle Nimrod, don’t djinn have perfect memories?” Philippa interjected.

“Usually a djinn of my age or older does have a perfect memory, Philippa. However, there are exceptions to that rule: in particular cases, there have been records of djinn going senile. Usually it only happens near the end of a djinn’s lifespan, when their Neshamah is nearly extinguished, but I agree that this is most extraordinary and somewhat troubling.” Nimrod cleared his throat awkwardly and changed the subject. “In any case, Holly, you said that the situation we find ourselves in today had something to do with demons, at least, according to Gabriel it did. Did he say how?”

“I think... It had something to do with Cas’s father-- his blood father. Jibril told me how to find Cas... But I just can’t seem to remember...” Holly frowned and looked at her feet.

Gabriel’s words seemed to ring out, suddenly, in Holly’s head, clear as a bell.

Look for the Morning Sun, and there you will find Castiel Malone. Holly wondered what Gabriel had meant, saying that, but her musings were interrupted.

“Well, keep trying to remember, Holly. In the meantime, we’ll go and visit Diego.” Philippa encouraged her cousin, and followed Nimrod as he led the way out of the Parque de Retiro, and to an altogether more ancient part of the city. The narrow streets were lined with cobbles rather than pavement, and Holly felt almost as if she had been there before. It was like she had visited Madrid when she had been very small, and now only held partial memories of the streets, the shops, and even the sky itself.

What did Gabriel mean by it? Holly asked herself. Her footsteps seemed to echo, lonely on the cobblestone road. What did he mean by it? Holly looked vaguely at the shops lining the avenue, and for a split second, the light changed from late afternoon to early morning. Holly blinked, and everything was back to normal. An ancient destructive force... What was this force? Again, the light changed into early morning, and then a frightful red glow began to come from somewhere behind Holly. She didn’t dare look, for fear of what it was. Laughter, cold, cruel laughter came also. It was Azazel! A brief moment of purest black, and it was afternoon again, and Holly was on her knees on the cobbles, breathing at twice her normal rate.

“Are you okay, kiddo?” Mark asked, helping his little sister to stand up. Weakly, Holly nodded.

“Just peachy-keen, bro.” she mumbled, feeling slightly sick. She had no idea what that experience was just then, but she did know that somehow, it was connected to what she had to do to rescue Cas. 

In a moment or two, though, Holly had quite recovered from her strange episode, and Nimrod stopped in front of a rather humble storefront.

“Vidrio de Diego,” John read the rather crude sign aloud. “Are you sure this is the place, Uncle Nimrod?”

Nimrod nodded, and opened the shop door. A little bell rang, triggered by the opening door. Immediately, an aged man stepped out from the back room. He had a little grey beard, a ring of grey hair on his head, like a monk, and kind eyes. This, of course, was Diego Ramirez. He saw Nimrod, and pointed at a handwritten sign that had been taped to the front of the counter.

“He ido de silencio,” Holly muttered, trying to translate, even as Nimrod began to speak Spanish to Diego, introducing everyone, and asking if he had seen Azazel. Diego signed back to Nimrod, and the conversation soon began to get confusing for all but Nimrod and Diego.

It was now that Holly ceased to pay attention to Nimrod. Her eyes wandered over the delicate glass bottles resting on the many shelves of the shop, and finally to the big front window. She looked at the boarding house across the street. It was old and falling apart, but under a plywood sign that said “Peligro: no entran en,” there was another sign, weathered and faded with age, that gave Holly a bit of a time trying to read and then translate it. She squinted at it, leaning closer to the window to get a better look. 

“El Sol de Mañana,” Holly muttered to herself. Then she gasped, and looked over to where the others were standing. Should she go over there now? Should she tell Nimrod? By now, Diego had taken out the living doll of Alphonso de la Rez, and Nimrod was examining it closely. Holly looked back at the decrepit pension. “Look for the morning sun, and there you will find Castiel Malone,” she whispered to herself Holly took a step backwards. What was she going to do now? Holly’s hand slipped into her pocket, as though drawn by a magnet. In truth, what drew her attention was the fact that her smartPhone was vibrating.

Mark looked up from the delicate red bowl shaped like a seashell that he had been examining. Only a moment before, Holly had been standing in front of the window, looking out across the street, but now she was conspicuously absent. Mark looked over at John and Philippa, who were both talking to Mr. Groanin. Mark was quite sure that he hadn’t heard the little bell ring, but then again, Holly was a djinn. Perhaps she had silenced the bell, or merely teleported herself somewhere else. Nimrod was still deep in conversation, so Mark began making his way over to the twins and Groanin.

“Have any of you seen Holly?” He asked them. All three shook their heads.

“No,” Philippa said, craning her neck to see over by the window where Holly had been just a moment before. “That’s odd. I could have sworn that she was there just a minute ago.”

“I thought so too, but she’s vanished.” Mark worried. “Where could she be?”

“She was looking across the street, wasn’t she? What’s out there?” John walked over to the window and looked out. “There’s only a condemned building and an old man talking to himself.” He looked down when he kicked something small under one of the shelves. “Huh? What’s that?” John knelt down to retrieve the item.

“What is it?” Mark asked, joining John at the window. 

“Isn’t this Holly’s cell phone?” 

Mark took the cell phone from John and checked the messages. The most recent was from a number that Mark didn’t recognize.

“Time to talk to Nimrod,” Mark said gravely.

* * *

 

Holly had purposely left her phone at Diego’s, so that, if she failed, at least the others would know what had happened to her. She had made herself invisible, so as not to arouse suspicion by entering a condemned boardinghouse. Steeling herself for what was about to happen, Holly reached for the handle.

“Holly,” someone called her name. Holly turned and saw an old man with a scraggly white beard, stooped posture, and bald head looking straight at her.

“You can see me? Who are you?!” Holly took a defensive position, and the old man laughed, coughing as a smoker does.

“Got any money for an old man?” He asked, not answering. Sighing, but figuring that it was probably worth her while to give money to this mysterious old man, Holly felt around in her pockets. All she came up with was two dollars and some small change.

“This is all I have on me. Now will you tell me who you are?” She asked again. The old man took the money, pocketed it, and smiled, showing curiously white teeth, in spite of his otherwise unkempt appearance.

“Sure thing, kid. I’m Deamiel. Heard of me?” Deamiel had a raspy voice, and Holly wondered if he could be an angel. It certainly seemed likely, seeing as he seemed to be able to see Holly past her invisibility. But then again, his appearance was hardly angelic. He looked every inch a degenerate beggar who belonged in a slum somewhere. Holly shook her head, and Deamiel sighed. “I’m known as the angel of advice and direction. So, what exactly are you planning on doing?”

“Is that why you’re here?” Holly asked. “To give me advice?”

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?” Deamiel sounded as though he were just about to issue a challenge if Holly said she did. Holly shook her head again.

“So, you’re going to advise me against this, are you?” Holly changed the subject hurriedly. Deamiel laughed his smoker’s cackle again.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You have to go through with this. You know you do, and I’m not in the habit of telling people things they already know. Generally, at least. You can’t turn back now, I’m just going to make things a bit clearer for you, because I assume, as per usual, that Gabriel didn’t give you all of the details. Such as why we angels are even bothering with you, a djinn, and a female djinn at that. Being an angel is man’s work, my buddy Samael always says.”

Holly sighed. “So why are you bothering with me?” She asked tiredly. She had to get to Cas soon, or Azazel was going to do something absolutely horrid to him!

“I would have thought a girl as clever as yourself would have figured that out by now, Holly. You’re a prophet.”

“A prophet? Me? You’re kidding.” Holly crossed her arms, now convinced that this angel must be insane. There was no way that Holly was a prophet! Even so, she felt uneasy, remembering the images she had seen only about a half an hour ago.

“I never kid. I may like smoking a little more than I should, but I always tell the truth. Now, prophet Holly, back to the issue at hand.” Deamiel sat up a little straighter, with all the air of professionalism.

“Right. The whole ‘rescue Cas’ thing.”

“Yeah. Being the angel of advice, I can already tell you that going in there without any idea of what you’re going to do would most assuredly end in nothing more than your own demise.”

“So what do you suggest?” Holly was beginning to get irritated. With all these angels bossing her around, she felt almost like a helpless puppet.

Deamiel had begun to work, and was now oblivious to everything else. “If I were you, I’d invoke the name of your archangel. You do know who your archangel is? Yeah, it’s good old Jib. Anyway, did Gabriel tell you about the Red Sun?”

“A little bit,” Holly admitted.

“Huh. Not enough, I see. All it really is is a miniature star, that’s red. It’s sort of like a fail-safe for if the Apocalypse doesn’t wipe out all of the sinners. The sun is raised by the willing self-sacrifice of the last Blue Djinn of Babylon, but Azazel has found a way to raise it up early.”

“Early?”

“If it’s allowed to rest until the end of time, the sun will be powerful enough to incinerate the entire galaxy, but right now it’s nowhere near that charged up.”

“It can only eradicate Europe, is that it? Jibril told me.”

“Yup. And I bet you’re wondering why the idiot would do something like that. Who can say what’s going through that young djinn’s mind? I ought to remind you that I’m only an angel, not Allah. I don’t know everything, so pardon me.”

“That’s fine, Deamiel. Anyway, what am I supposed to do?” Holly demanded. Deamiel stood up, and raised an eyebrow.

“I just told you, kid. Anyway, if you want a blessing, I can give you that too. Then I’ve got to get back to Heaven.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Allah be with you to guide your actions, prophet Holly Godwin.” Holly winced. She knew that Godwin was, technically speaking, her real surname, but it sounded strange tacked onto her first name.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Holly said, opened the crumbling door, and stepped into the ruined building.

“I’ll be seeing you again, kid!” Deamiel called after her, and sat back down on the cobbles, chuckling to himself.


	20. Sword of Fire

**Chapter 19: Sword of Fire**

“...And you know this how?” Nimrod raised an eyebrow at Mark’s panicked story.

“Azazel called her. He left a message.” Mark was breathing heavily, in order to not hyperventilate. He had a bad habit of hyperventilating when something really bad happened.

“Let’s hear it, then.” Shaking violently, Mark tapped the play button.

Azazel’s snide voice came over the tinny speakers of Holly’s abandoned phone.

“Hello, Holly Godwin. Yes, I still have your friend Castiel. I might be willing to make a trade. If you ever want to see him alive again, then you’ll come to the inn across from Diego Ramirez’ glass shop. You’re probably looking at it right now. Come alone, and oh, Nimrod? Don’t think about following, or I will kill both of them. Got it? Good.”

Everyone got very quiet. Even Diego was still, although he didn’t understand most of what Azazel’s message, he still understood the tone.

“That’s torn it, n’ all.” Groanin said mournfully. “What are we going to do now?”

No one answered him. No one could.

The silence was broken by the sound of the little bell, as someone else came in from the street. It was the old man that John had seen across the street, seemingly talking to himself.

“Hello.” He said, and coughed a bit. “I’m Deamiel, by the way. Perhaps you’ve heard of me, Nimrod?” John, Philippa, Mark, Groanin, and Diego all stared at Nimrod. Nimrod nodded slowly.

“I believe so. You’re the angel of advice, aren’t you?” Nimrod was putting up a good show of calmness.

“Advice, and direction. And Monday, too, but since today is Wednesday, that little tidbit doesn’t really matter, does it?” Deamiel walked over to the very same bowl that Mark had been looking at earlier, and picked it up.

“Did you have any advice for us, Deamiel? My daughter just received a threatening phone call, and now she’s gone missing, probably to go get her friend.” Nimrod’s voice began to shake slightly, but he cleared his throat several times.

“I know,” Deamiel put the seashell-shaped bowl down carefully, and looked at the piece next to it, a crystal decanter.

“Do you? How?” Philippa spoke up, slightly emboldened from having more experience with angels than her twin brother.

Deamiel coughed a couple of times, and then answered Philippa. “I just sent Holly on her way, that’s how I know.”

“You didn’t advise her to come back?” Mark was stunned into speaking. Deamiel smiled at Mark, showing off pearly white teeth.

“If I was supposed to, I would have. I gave your little sister my honest opinion. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“Will she?” Mark asked angrily. “Does she even know what she’s up against?!”

Deamiel glanced coolly at Mark. “She has a lot better of an idea than you do. In addition, she’s a prophet. Jib’s not just going to let her die without having something to say about it.”

That made Mark shut up, but Nimrod wasn’t finished. “So what are we supposed to do? Sit here idly while Holly risks her life?”

“Exactly.” Deamiel looked up to the ceiling, and nodded. “That’s exactly right, Nimrod. Now, I must be going. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

With a noise like fluttering wings, Deamiel vanished, leaving everyone with a growing sense of dread as, outside, the sky darkened and it began to pour.

The darkness inside El Sol de Mañana was almost palpable. It pressed in on all sides until Holly felt almost breathless from her claustrophobia. Deamiel’s parting words seemed to echo in Holly’s head, giving her hope, and the resolve to go on. She walked a few more steps into the ruined lobby, her footsteps tiny clicks on the tiled floor in the absolute silence.

“MUMPSIMUS!” Azazel said, from right behind Holly, and several wall-mounted gas lamps sprang to life, illuminating the huge room with a dim yellow light. For a moment, Holly forgot all about the danger Cas was in. The tiled floor was a huge, incredibly detailed mosaic of what seemed to be a scarlet sun. Holly saw, for a split second, the majesty of the mosaic when it had been new, and more vibrant. Then she was jerked back to the present.

“What do you want from me, Azazel?” She asked.

“A trade.” Azazel said, walking out in front of Holly, and smirking.

“You’ll trade Cas’s freedom for what, then?” Holly asked woodenly. She dreaded what Azazel was going to demand.

“Nothing much. Just your life. Here, why don’t you talk it over with Castiel?” Azazel beckoned with his index finger, and a heavy wooden chair skidded noisily across the tiled floor. Sitting, chained securely to the chair, was Cas. Holly’s eyes widened when she saw that Cas’s mouth was covered with duct tape.

“Cas!” She almost yelled, relieved that he was alive.

“Oh, silly me. I forgot to take the duct tape off. Here, let me get that for you.” Azazel walked calmly over to Cas, and ripped the duct tape away, triggering a pained shout from Cas.

Holly ran over, shoving Azazel away as she reached Cas.

“Wait Hol! Don’t touch the chains! They’re made of jade-- you’ll be bound just like me!” Cas shouted, seconds before Holly threw her arms around him in a relieved hug. Holly stopped short, and Azazel sighed.

“There you go again, Castiel, ruining all my fun. Oh, well. Continue on with your silly reunion.”

“Cas, what is this place?” Holly asked her best friend. She felt something wet on her face. Holly was crying with a mixture of happiness, desperation, and fear.

Cas shrugged, using what little movement he was allotted, he was fettered so tightly to the chair. “Search me.” he said. “I came here in a bottle. I don’t even know where we are, really.”

“Madrid. We’re right across the street from where Nimrod and the others are waiting.” Holly whispered.

“What are you thinking about doing?” Cas asked suspiciously. He knew Holly well enough to tell when she was about to do something monumental. Holly just shook her head, and turned back to Azazel.

“All right. Let Cas go first, and I’ll let you take my life.” Holly said, with an air of muffled confidence.

“You do realize that you have absolutely no chance of defeating me, don’t you, Marid?” Azazel sneered. “No, I’ll set my brother free when I feel like it.”

Holly clenched her fists down by her sides, remembering the blessing that Deamiel had given her, and his advice.

She took a deep breath, readying herself. “In the name of Allah and Jibril the archangel, I compel you,” Holly began, her voice reverberating around the decrepit lobby, “to quit your evildoing right this minute!” Holly stamped her foot, silently reciting a prayer. Azazel laughed cruelly.

“That was what you were planning? Your God and His angels can’t help you now, Marid. And I shall raise the Red Sun of Madrid to defy you!”

CRACK! Outside the boarded-up windows of El Sol de Mañana, lightning split the sky. Holly smiled quietly.

“Yes, Azzy.” she said, still smiling. “That was my lifeline.”

“Who dares to defy the will of Allah?” A booming voice, hardly like the kind voice Holly remembered from her dream of Gabriel, came from by the door. It was more befitting of a giant in a fairy tale, and instinctively, Holly knew that Gabriel had changed.

Azazel grabbed Holly’s short hair, kicked her shin so that she fell down, and dragged her to the middle of the mosaic, in order to face Gabriel head-on.

“I do, angel scum! MUMPSIMUS!” Azazel screamed, and immediately, a ring of black fire burned around Holly and Azazel. Azazel laughed again and threw Holly, painfully, onto the marble mosaic floor. Holly landed on her broken arm, and was momentarily distracted by the pain, but not too distracted to observe Azazel seem to conjure another boy, who looked strikingly similar to Cas, though far paler, but, like Azazel, was a few years the elder. The boy-- though really he was a young man of about twenty-- glared at Azazel with murderous grey eyes, though he was bound hand and foot with jade chains like Cas’s. His mouth was covered with a strip of duct tape, and his face was twisted with pure rage, though rage that the young man was unable to act upon.

Gabriel paced along the outer side of the ring of fire. he was much different than he had been in Holly’s dream. He had the same long, curly brown hair fastened in a ponytail, the same stormy grey eyes, the same nose and jaw, but he was now twice the size he had been before, and had absolutely gargantuan snowy white, feathery wings, and a halo of white fire framing his head. This Gabriel, clad in white robes rather than a Sunday suit, was truly frightening. However, wielding a sword made of flame as he did now, the archangel was nothing short of terrifying, even for Holly, who knew that he was here to help her.

Gabriel stared back at Holly, and for the first time, Holly sensed the amazing power contained within him.

“Use your power, Prophet of the Djinn. Show your dominion over flame. Break the ring of fire!” He whispered to Holly. Holly did her best to stand, and turned to look at Azazel, who was still cackling in triumph.

Then she looked past Azazel, at Cas, who was still chained up, but had duct tape over his mouth again. Their eyes met, and Holly received her first vision into the future. She saw what the fate of Europe would be if she failed.

A barren wasteland, filled only by a landscape of black sand dunes, sand dunes made of the ashes of every bit of Europe. Every building, every living thing, everything, had been burnt to ashes, just like Mr. and Mrs. Coomes had been. Mark, Nimrod, Cas, John, Philippa, Mr. Groanin, Diego... all of them would be dead if Holly didn’t act, right now.

Holly blinked, dragging herself away from the future and back into the present. She concentrated with all her might on what had to be done.

“MADECASSEE!” she shouted. The circle of black fire melted away, and Gabriel charged at Azazel, holding his bright sword of fire aloft...

And Holly fainted.


	21. The Wish

**Chapter 20: The Wish**

“Holly,” Cas poked Holly’s left shoulder gently He almost leaped for joy when Holly groaned loudly and opened one eye, and then the other.

They were still in the lobby of El Sol de Mañana, but it had stopped raining, and soft moonlight shone through the cracks between the boards covering the windows.

“What happened?” Holly asked, wincing as she sat up. She still felt sore, even a couple of hours after hitting the mosaic floor.

“After you got rid of the fire, Gabriel charged at Azazel, but Azazel just... Vanished. Just poof, into thin air.” Cas began.

“He’s not dead, is he?” Holly sighed.

Cas laughed. “Nope, I highly doubt it. Anyway, after that, Gabriel said something I couldn’t understand, and there was this really weird, echoey booming sound. Then he took away the jade chains, and told me that he was going to take Jonathan back home. That’s the evil djinn that Azazel was going to sacrifice along with you. He’s my cousin, apparently.” Cas’s face soured at the idea.

Holly sighed and rubbed her eyes with her left hand. “What time is it, anyway?” She asked. “I left my phone with Mark and the others.”

Cas checked his watch. “It’s 9:55. The sun just set, you missed it.”

Holly yawned. “Will you help me get up?” she asked tiredly. “I’m not entirely sure if I can walk by myself.”

“Sure thing. Nimrod’s just across the street, right?”

Holly nodded as Cas carefully helped Holly to her feet. He pulled her good arm around his shoulders, and began walking towards the door, with Holly leaning heavily on him. Cas carefully opened the door, carefully, because he was worried about what might come crashing down on his and Holly’s heads if he was not careful, and dragged Holly out into the street, where the slick, rain-soaked cobbles shone in the moonlight. It took all of about a minute to cross the street, and stopped in front of Diego’s shop.

“Is this it?” he asked Holly, but before she could answer, Nimrod and Mark burst out of the front door, in step with each other.

“Holly! Cas!” Mark shouted, laughing in relief. “I’d give you a hug, but I’ll probably end up hurting you more than you already are.”

Nimrod took a much less joyous reaction to Holly’s and Cas’s return. He stopped about two feet in front of them and crossed his arms, remaining silent for so long it was almost painful.

“Well,” Nimrod said finally. “While you did manage to accomplish what we came here to do, I simply cannot stress enough the absolute foolishness that led your actions, young djinn!”

Holly didn’t have to pretend to feel ashamed of herself as Nimrod continued lecturing her, but she kept reminding herself that she had a noble cause.

She was feeling so down that it came as an enormous shock when Nimrod suddenly stopped lecturing and embraced her. Holly was even more surprised to discover that he was weeping.

“What? Nimrod!” Holly protested, trying without success to push Nimrod away with her good arm.

“We just found each other, Holly.” He said into her hair. His voice was shaking. “I didn’t want to lose you again so quickly.” Nimrod relinquished her and cleared his throat awkwardly. Holly edged towards Mark, who in turn put his arm protectively around his little sister’s shoulders.

“Are you okay, Nimrod?” Mark asked cautiously. Nimrod cleared his throat again and blinked the tears from his eyes, readjusting his glasses awkwardly.

“Yes, quite, thank you, Mark. Why don’t you go inside and help Holly get cleaned up a little? We’ll be heading back in just a bit.”

“Got it. C’mon, kiddo. What did you hurt this time?” Mark half pulled, half carried Holly into Diego’s shop.

After the door shut, Nimrod turned to speak to Cas in relative private.

“Cas,” Nimrod sighed, using Cas’s nickname for the first time, “It’s time that you told me what has happened to you.”

Cas related his story, telling Nimrod everything that had happened to him since Azazel had kidnapped him, not even a week before.

“It was horrible,” Cas finished. “I was sure that he’d snap and kill me before long. I’m really glad that that’s over and done with. Doubly so, since I think that Gabriel must have destroyed the Red Sun.”

Nimrod sighed. He had been absolutely silent while Cas had been speaking, but now he shook his head.

“Cas, you’re aware, I’m sure, that Azazel did not die. I’m not positive what he did, but no djinn just vanishes when they’re killed. The odds are, Azazel will continue to pursue you. And if not him, then certainly another Ifrit. They’re quite fascinated by you, you see. As am I, to speak the truth. I’ve never met an Ifrit that didn’t want me dead before, much less one who turned out to be my daughter’s best friend in the world.”

Cas felt like a freak, the way Nimrod was talking. It wasn’t Cas’s fault that Castiel and Janax had taken him away when he’d been an infant. Cas still didn’t know why, and it seemed that only God knew this. Perhaps it had been fate. 

In any case, Nimrod seemed to realize that Cas’s mind was still in turmoil, for he added quickly, “This is why I’d like you to make me a promise. A djinn promise is binding, you see. I’d hate to think what would happen should you break one.”

Cas remembered something. “Right before I sent Holly back on her way, I promised that I’d always be her best friend. Was that binding?”

“That depends. Did you really mean it? More importantly, did you wish it to be so?” Nimrod returned.

Cas thought for a moment, reflecting on the exchange he’d had with Holly, what seemed like ages ago. Finally, Cas nodded. “Yeah. I did wish that I’d always be best friends with Hol. It was kind of weird. I’ve never actually wished that hard for anything before.”

Nimrod smiled and nodded. “I believe that you did make a binding promise. But now you need to make another one.”

“So I have to promise that I’ll be good, is that it?” Cas asked, trying to comprehend what Nimrod was asking him to do.

“Essentially, yes. However, as I already said, you have to truly wish it for the promise to be potent, even decades later. A promise made under duress is a promise all too easily broken.” Nimrod explained.

“Should I make a wish?” Cas asked.

“It’s not necessary, but it certainly does help.” Nimrod looked up to the night sky for some inspiration. “We ought to work out the wording very carefully before you say this wish aloud, though. No loopholes are allowed.”

Cas and Nimrod discussed exactly what Cas ought to wish for at great length. About a half-hour passed before they had come to a satisfactory conclusion.

“I’ll write it down for you. Just a moment, please. QWERTYUIOP!” Nimrod conjured up a tablet and fountain pen, and scribbled down the wish. After he had finished, he handed the tablet to Cas, and put the pen in his pocket. “Whenever you’re ready, Cas.” Nimrod said. Cas read over what Nimrod had written a few times, and then cleared his throat.

“Okay,” Cas said, and took a deep breath before beginning his wish. “I wish, that in the event that I ever become truly evil beyond redemption, that all of my efforts come to nothing, and I burst into flame and die before my spirit can leave my body.” Cas took another deep breath, wishing with all his might, before closing his eyes and uttering his focus word. “APOGEOTROPICAL!”

Cas felt a small tug in his gut, and realized, feeling somewhat disturbed, that it was his own djinn power leaving him to grant his wish. It concerned him because Cas supposed, not without merit, that if he was destined to never become a truly evil djinn, then no djinn power would have left him. Would it?

All the same, Cas was glad to have a fail-safe option. If he couldn’t work for Good, then Cas had no business existing at all.

“Well, now that we’ve done that, what say you to seeing how Holly is? She didn’t exactly look unscathed from her bout with Azazel.” Nimrod smiled at Cas, seeming worried, but not willing to allow this worry to consume him.

Cas grinned back and nodded, following Nimrod into Diego’s glass shop.

About an hour later, Nimrod was (tiredly) steering his flying carpet through the dark skies, with Mark, Cas, Holly, John, Philippa, and Groanin onboard, back to London. 

Holly turned to Philippa. “There’s one thing that I don’t quite understand about this whole djinn adventure, Phil.” Holly said to her cousin. “You mentioned that you were useless. You’re djinn, aren’t you? Why haven’t you used djinn power at all on this trip?”

“Yeah, I was wondering a little about that,” Cas chimed in. “What’s the deal with that?”

Philippa exchanged a glance with her twin brother, and they both smiled. “Perhaps we ought to start at the beginning. You see, it all started when John and I were twelve...”

As Philippa related her narrative, with John jumping in with a helpful word here and there, Mark stared moodily down at the black waters of the English channel. Nimrod, tired as he was, noticed this, and turned to Mark.

“And what are you thinking of over there, Mark? You seem rather down in the mouth.”

Mr. Groanin, who was reading the day’s edition of The Daily Telegraph, eavesdropped covertly.

Mark sighed. “Well, a lot of things, really. Holly’s right arm is still broken, Cas might suddenly turn evil, but most of all, now both of my parents are dead. And my stepmother. I know I’m technically a legal adult, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to do! I’ve been in school practically all my life! Plus, I’ve still got Holly to worry about, and on top of that, my house has been burned to the ground. We haven’t got anywhere to go...”

Nimrod snorted, a sound that earned him a pair of raised eyebrows over the top of the newspaper from Groanin. As usual, though, Nimrod ignored Groanin. “Poppycock! You can stay with me, Mark. We may not be related by blood, but you’re still Holly’s brother, and by extension, it’s my responsibility to keep you both educated and well-versed in culture. You could work for me, if you really wanted to do something. Groanin has quite enough in the way of duties as my butler to keep him going, even if you divvied up the chores.”

Groanin looked over at Nimrod and Mark, and gave his opinion on the matter. “Much obliged if you’d do that, sir. You’re quite right that I’ve too much to do for you already. An extra pair of hands is certainly welcome.” He rustled his newspaper and continued pretending to read.

Mark nodded amiably at Groanin, feeling better, but still inclined to feel depressed, and not without good reason.

“What about Cas?” Mark asked Nimrod, changing the subject.

“I’ll arrange for it so that he can stay with us in London. There’s going to be far too many legalities for my taste, what with adoption and immigration to get through, but it’ll all work out in the end.”

“I assume Holly’s going to stay with us in London, is she?” Mark said.

Nimrod nodded. “Yes, she is. It’s quite strange, but I never thought for a moment that my own daughter would turn out to be a prophet.”

Mark laughed. “Yeah? She’s my little sister. I’ve known her almost her entire life. I’m the one who’s really surprised! Though, I guess what with djinn existing, and all this supernatural stuff going down, I can hardly claim that it didn’t cross my mind that angels and prophets might exist, too. It just seems so unreal for this stuff to exist in this day and age.”

“All the same, we know that at least one archangel is looking after her. I wonder, though, why Holly discovered that she was a prophet now, and not later.”

“You think it could be the Apocalypse?”

Nimrod sighed. “I don’t know, Mark. Some days, it feels like it is.”


	22. Epilogue: Dream Hopping

**Epilogue: Dream Hopping**

They arrived in London at around midnight. Cas went to bed immediately, feeling very tired. Despite this exhaustion, he lay awake, thinking over the journey of the past week.

Azazel was definitely still at large, that much he knew for certain. But how had he pulled off that vanishing act? Was Beelzebub involved? 

Feeling troubled, but too tired to care right then, Cas yawned and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to come to him. Before long, it did.

Cas dreamt that he was on a street corner, and it was storming violently. Throwing up his arms to shield himself from the downpour, Cas ran under a red and gold awning that belonged to what appeared to be some sort of small, cosy, and well-lit bookstore. A flash of lightning came, followed almost immediately by the roar of thunder, and Cas was no longer alone under the awning.

Gabriel had come for a visit. He looked similar to the way Cas had first seen him, but very different. For one thing, he was now normal-sized, and he was wearing a white Sunday suit. Cas could hardly see the halo of white fire, and for now, Gabriel’s wings weren’t visible at all.

“Hello, Cas.” Gabriel said, nodding amiably, and looking in the large front window of the bookshop with a manner that was very... well, human, in Cas’s opinion, forgetting for a moment that he, himself, was also anything but human.

“You’re Gabriel, aren’t you, sir? Thanks for the help earlier.” Even though Gabriel had softened his appearance, Cas still felt somewhat frightened of the archangel.

Gabriel smiled, looking away from the window. “You’re quite welcome, Cas, but I was only doing what was asked of me by the prophet I have been set to protect.”

Cas shrugged. “That doesn’t change the fact that you saved our lives.”

Gabriel seemed as though he didn’t quite know what to do, and shoved his hands in his pockets. This seemed to remind him of something. “Oh, here. Castiel asked me to return this to you. Said you dropped it.” Gabriel pulled out a lamp that Cas recognized as the one that he’d had when Castiel had visited him. Cas took the bronze lamp by the carved angel handle.

“Thank you, sir.” Cas said respectfully, feeling the cool weight of the ancient item.

Gabriel nodded again, and his eyes left Cas and lingered once more on a book in the window display: The Arabian Nights.

“I have said this before, Cas, to many people. It’s my favourite order to dish out, actually Do you know what it is?”

“No, sir.” Cas said, also looking at the copy of Arabian Nights. Gabriel smiled.

“Read, Cas. That’s the one order that never gets old for me. You can never read enough books. You’re lucky. Nowadays, it’s quite a lot easier to get ahold of books and read to your heart’s content, but way back when, the majority of people didn’t even know how to read. Your job, from now on, is to read as much as you can and as often as you can.”

Another fork of lightning cracked the sky in two, and the next thing that Cas knew, he was back in his room in Nimrod’s house. It was still pitch black outside, so Cas turned over, intending to go right back to sleep. His tired eyes fell on the mahogany bedside table, which he could have sworn hadn’t had anything on it before he’d gone to sleep.

Now, however, Cas could see the silhouette of the bronze lamp with the ivory angel handle sitting, looking quite natural, on the little table. Immediately, his sleepiness was forgotten. Cas got up, made his way over to the lightswitch, and snapped the lights on. After blinking several times at the sudden brightness, Cas went back over to the lamp and picked it up. A post-it note had been attached to the base of it. Cas peeled it off, and read it.

He smiled. There was only one word scrawled on the yellow square of paper, written in black ink with swooping handwriting.

“Read.”

* * *

 

_ “When the angel Jibril visited Muhammad, do you know what the first word he said was? No, it was not ‘Pray,’ it was not ‘Serve.’ It was ‘Read.’” _


End file.
